


Break The Walls (And Kill Us All)

by tabulaxrasa



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ghosts, Haunted Houses, Horror, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-31
Updated: 2009-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-21 11:30:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tabulaxrasa/pseuds/tabulaxrasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank owns an antique store, but he's not very good at it. About the only thing he IS good at is having a crush on his best customer. Until Frank unknowingly unleashes something into his shop— something that doesn't like him very much. And it's not going away any time soon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Stevie and Jezrana for beta! Originally posted [here](http://tabula-x-rasa.dreamwidth.org/1306.html) with a fanmix.
> 
> Title from "Gouge Away" by The Pixies.

It was hot enough that Frank had lost his appetite. The air conditioner broke last summer and Frank just didn't have the money to get it fixed. He only had a window unit in the office, anyway, and the house was too old to add central air. He had lots of ceiling fans, and the shades were all pulled, but there was only so much they could do.

It made business even worse, of course, because he looked closed and the few people who did venture inside Frank's furnace-masquerading-as-an-antiques-shop wisely got out again as quickly as possible. The antique business was not about _quick_ , which was one of the reasons Frank kind of hated it.

Frank loved and hated the store. His grandma had put her heart and soul into it, and Frank had a lot of fond memories of the place from when he was a kid. He also really liked being his own boss— he had a little Problem with Authority. But he wasn't cut out for antiquing and he knew it. He couldn't keep any of it straight, he tended to break things, and he hated all the paperwork. Frank was only just barely making a go of it as it was.

Frank's mom had told him to just sell the place, but giving up on his grandma's shop would be letting go of the last piece of her. It would also be one more thing Frank had failed at, and it would probably also mean a future in telemarketing. Unless Frank could cut out his own tongue or something. He'd be willing to do almost anything to avoid telemarketing.

So he spent his days (Tuesdays off) in the dark, creaky farmhouse that itself was an antique, stuck in the middle of nowhere, too hot in summer and too drafty in winter.

And today he had plenty of time to go through the mountains of boxes, years worth of boxes, that had piled up in the rooms used for storage, which were all of the upstairs bedrooms. He cracked open the window of the smallest bedroom, found a bit of wood to prop it open, and dragged one of the failing cardboard boxes over, choking on the dust. The tape was friable and he just pulled it off.

There were dishes inside, carefully packed into cardboard and newspaper. The pattern was… well, Frank thought it was gross. That was good. The more Frank hated something, the more he could sell it for. He checked the maker's mark and set the first stack aside. There was a large platter tucked down the side of the box. Frank pulled it out and fumbled when it tried to slip out of his hand. There was something slippery on it, a greasy dark smear along the bottom.

"Ugh," Frank said. He laid the platter down. It looked like oil, but when he sniffed at his fingers, it didn't smell of anything, certainly not petroleum.

"The fuck?"

He wiped his hand on his jeans, then wished he hadn't. These were his favorite jeans. Frank looked in the box, reached a cautious exploratory hand down, but he didn't feel anything like a leak, didn't smell anything. He looked at the platter again, at the slick smear on its bottom edge, but it didn't make any more sense than it had before.

He heard a car outside, crunching on the dirt drive, and Frank rushed down the stairs, ran his hands under the faucet, and then ducked behind the staircase, wiping his hands dry on his legs. Because he was busy. And because his heart was pounding, after running around in the heat. And if he kept telling himself that, he might believe it.

He heard the door creak open and the little bell ring, sounds familiar from time immemorial. Heard, also, the boots on the floor, newer but still familiar.

"Frank?"

It was Wednesday, must be Gerard.

He went into the main room and smiled. "Hi. You made it out today."

Gerard was still wearing his huge girl sunglasses, and he made a funny face behind them. "Well, yeah. Guess I did." He smiled. "You know I don't like competition. Um." Gerard fumbled his glasses off, looking anxious. "I mean, it seems like you have less customers on Wednesdays."

"It's totally dead in here," Frank agreed. Not like he could pretend otherwise. He eyed Gerard's clothes, which were all black as always. He appeared to have one outfit: black jeans, black shirt, black leather jacket. Although he had at least two pairs of black jeans, which was probably not something Frank should know about a customer. Definitely not, considering Frank could tell the pants apart because the corner of one the back pockets was ripped. "Kinda hot in here, I guess."

"Really?" Gerard said, tucking his sunglasses in the pocket of his leather jacket. "I hadn't noticed." Anyone else would have been sarcastic or ironic; Gerard was serious.

Frank had a theory that Gerard was actually cold-blooded; that or a vampire. He wasn't sure, yet, which one he preferred.

"Got anything for me?" Gerard asked, crooked smile bright and eyes wide.

Gerard was Frank's best customer. Frank thought of him that way, at least, since he'd first shown up a little over a year ago. He bought regularly, though nothing very expensive. Gerard used them in "installations" Frank had never seen, although Gerard talked his ear off about them. Gerard pretty much talked Frank's ear off about everything, which was how Frank knew Gerard moved out here after his parents forced him to move out of the basement, that Gerard had a little brother named Mikey, and that the New York art world was full of fakes and posers who were only in it for the fame.

Usually, Frank was perfectly capable of talking people to death himself, but around Gerard he was tongue-tied. Frank long ago got into the habit of putting aside oddments and interesting shapes for Gerard. He was pretty good at figuring out what would make Gerard's face light up.

He led Gerard into the kitchen, where he'd laid some pieces out on the table for Gerard to peruse. The back door was propped open and there was the faint whiff of a cross breeze. Frank did not hesitate to stand in it. He was acutely aware of the sweat along his forehead and down his back.

Gerard made some interested and excited noises, bending over the table, picking up things that caught his eye and turning them to see the different angles.

Frank was pretty sure he was allowed to watch customers in his store, so he only felt a tiny bit guilty as Gerard poked through the pile and made his selections. He took the window grill, like Frank had known he would, and a set of tin spoons. They both puzzled over the function of a metal disc about the diameter of a coffee cup, etched with vines and flowers; Gerard took it to puzzle over it some more. He picked up a few other odds and ends and Frank helped Gerard carry everything out to his car.

They sat in Frank's office, under the fan, drinking water while Frank pretended to carefully write up a receipt, and really just listened to Gerard talk. His brother was coming for a visit, and Gerard had started a minor fire over the weekend in his workshop.

"...And it burned a corner of this canvas I had propped up nearby, but I actually think it looks better this way, I'm totally gonna use it in my next show. I'm thinking about experimenting with fire more. I really liked the effect."

"That sounds like..." Frank paused and tried to think of a diplomatic word or two.

"A really bad idea?" Gerard grinned.

Frank grinned back without realizing he was doing it. "How can you stand to make fires in this heat? Or weld the metal together or…" that was the extent of Frank's knowledge about Gerard's creative process, so he finished with an expressive hand wave.

Gerard shrugged. "I'm just used to it, I guess. I don't even really notice it anymore."

Frank couldn't think of any other way to draw out the receipt-writing, so he handed over Gerard's copy. Gerard took it, folded it into a tiny square, and tucked it away in a pocket. He fidgeted in his chair, but didn't get up.

"Thanks," Gerard said quietly. "I really appreciate you putting things aside for me like that."

"It's no big deal," Frank shrugged.

"Okay," Gerard said. "I was just thinking— if you ever wanted to—"

"Yes?" Frank's heartbeat picked up. He tried to tell himself it definitely wasn't what he was thinking, and he shouldn't get his hopes up.

"I— oh shit, is that the time? Seriously?"

Frank looked at the clock behind him. "Yeah, that should be right."

"Fuck, I'm late. Conference call with my agent and some gallery… I told him not to do it on Wednesday but there wasn't any other time. Shit, sorry, I gotta go." Gerard was standing by the time he finished talking.

Frank, who had obviously got his hopes up really fucking high, swallowed down the disappointment and forced on a smile as he stood up. "That's fine. It was good to see you. It's always— yeah, nice to see you."

Gerard smiled, hesitated in the door of the office, but shot a worried glance at the clock and hustled out. Frank followed a bit more slowly and stood in the doorway, watching Gerard walk to his truck.

"Stay cool in there, Frank!" Gerard yelled. He waved and Frank waved back.

He watched Gerard drive away, like the pathetic thirteen year old girl he was, and went back inside his dark shop to try to stay cool.

 

On Monday morning, Frank's computer wouldn't turn on. He cursed and yelled and tried everything he knew, which took about ten minutes.

No lights, no noises, no nothing. Frank didn't use it for much— it was the shop computer, and it was really old, and he used it for bookkeeping and solitaire and not much else. They only had dial-up out here, so surfing the internet kind of felt like dying in a hospital— long, slow, painful, and involved lots of crashing.

Still, he kind of needed it. He made a few more accusations about the computer's probable ancestry and preferred methods of entertainment, then picked up his phone and went looking for a phonebook.

The most recent one seemed to be from 1998. He tried the one computer place listed but it was a Chinese restaurant now. Frank manfully resisted the urge to order fried rice. He considered just forgetting the whole thing, but at this point he felt like he was on a quest, some sort of Epic Battle between himself and the PC, and he had to win.

That, and Frank had been putting the bookkeeping off for three weeks and he kind of needed to know if he could pay the bills this month or not.

Frank idly scrolled through his phone, but he still didn't really know anyone out here. Well. He knew one person.

 

"Hi," Frank said, hating the way his voice immediately turned nervous and stuttery. "Is this Gerard? It's Frank. From the antiques store."

"Hi!" Gerard's voice went high. He sounded happy, anyway. "What's up?"

"Uh, I know this is random and kind of really inappropriate—"

Frank paused to take a breath, and Gerard giggled. "Yes?"

"—But do you know anything about computers?"

Gerard was silent for a long moment, and Frank was thinking about banging his head on the wall when Gerard answered.

"Um, I know a little. I'm not, like, an expert or anything, but I use it for gaming and I'm kind of online a lot…why?"

Frank tried to direct his sigh of relief away from the receiver. He explained the problem- not like there was much to explain- and added "And I'm really sorry but I don't really know anyone else to call."

"I don't know if I'll be able to help," Gerard said, "but I can come over."

"Seriously? Oh man, thank you so much."

"Now? I mean, should I come over now?"

"Whenever you're free. I mean, now's good for me, if you want."

"Cool," Gerard said. "I'll see you soon, then."

 

Gerard poked at the computer for awhile, doing some of the same things Frank had tried (which reassured him a little bit) and some other things, but the machine refused to respond.

"Sorry," Gerard said after an half hour or so, sitting back and running a hand through his already-messy hair. "There's nothing I can do. It just won't turn on."

Frank already knew that because he'd been hovering over Gerard's shoulder the whole time. It wasn't an "I don't trust you alone in my office/with my computer" hover, it was very much an "I want to be in the same room with you forever" hover. Frank wasn't sure which one he wanted Gerard to think was going on.

"I could call my friend Ray," Gerard offered, "see if he can come out. He's a total genius, seriously."

"Oh, sure," Frank said. "If you think he won't mind. I can't really pay him much—"

Gerard smiled, and Frank stopped talking. "I'm pretty sure he'll work for pizza, if you're up for that."

Frank smiled back. "I'm always up for pizza."

Gerard called his friend, and after he reported Ray would be right over, Frank called for pizza. It always took them a while to get all the way out here.

While they waited, Gerard told Frank about his plans for the latest load he'd taken from Frank. Frank was a little sad when another car pulled up out front.

He was pretty glad to meet Ray, though, because the dude's hair was epic. "It's so nice to meet you," Ray said, shaking hands. "Gerard talks about you all the time."

Frank glanced at Gerard, who was hiding behind his hair. Frank felt a little better about this morning, when he'd admitted he had no friends.

Ray went to get started on Frank's computer, and there were a few minutes of awkward silence before the pizza arrived. They took it in to Ray, and Frank and Gerard stood in the back of the room eating while Ray fought with the computer.

"Do you have a screwdriver?" Ray asked, absently wiping his hands on a paper towel.

Frank looked at the clutter all around them. "Philips or standard?"

Ray used the small screwdriver Frank eventually dug up to open the back of the CPU. "It's just completely dead," he said, turning to look at them over his shoulder. "I'm hoping there's just a loose connection somewhere."

Ray started poking around inside the tower, but withdrew his hand almost immediately. "What's this?" he rubbed his fingertips together, frowning.

"What?" Both Frank and Gerard peered over Ray's shoulder.

"There's, like, grease or something in here. All over the place."

"Is that why it's not working?" Gerard asked.

"Probably."

"Let me see that." Frank's memory was trigged. He leaned over Ray and slid his finger along the inside of the case.

It looked like the same grease or oil he'd found in that box of plates. "What the fuck?" Frank said, wiping his hand on a paper towel. Against the white, the oil looked brown.

"Can you save it?" Gerard was asking. "Clean it off?"

Frank didn't hear Ray's answer. He was searching the floor around the CPU. The box of plates had never been in this room, as far as Frank knew. "How did it get in here?" he muttered.

"It must have seeped in," Ray said. He poked in the open CPU case. "It's all over in here."

"Maybe it dripped in from the top?" Gerard said.

"Nothing spilled on it," Frank said.

"I can't believe it only just quit working," Ray said. "It was really working fine yesterday?"

"Yes," Frank insisted.

Ray shook his head. His hair moved around in a giant cloud. It was kind of soothing, like a lava lamp. "I don't know what to tell you," he sighed. "Except you'll need a new computer. Is your hard drive backed up?"

Frank laughed, even though it wasn't actually funny. "So I should just get another one?"

"Yeah, sorry. Well, they don't actually make Compaqs any more. Not for, like, eight years. But you could get an HP, they bought Compaq out."

Frank didn't care about that, but he thanked Ray profusely as he showed him out. Ray tried to apologize for not being able to help, but Frank pointed out firmly how ridiculous that was, and made Ray take the rest of the pizza home.

Frank found Gerard wandering around upstairs. "I've never been up here before," Gerard said. "I've always wondered what was up here." A guilty look settled on Gerard's face. "I hope you don't mind."

"No, that's—" Frank had to clear his throat— "that's fine." They were in what used to be the master bedroom, and there was still a large brass bed with a mattress in the room, buried under boxes. Frank's eye was continuously drawn to it. Frank resolved that once Gerard left, he would punch himself in the face.

The light was low and sort of sepia-colored up here, because Frank always kept the blinds drawn. It was also really dusty. Frank had thought, once or twice, about trying to clean the place up, but he was pretty sure that was a job for a team of people in Hazmat suits. All that dust flying through the air would kill his already fucked up lungs.

"See anything you like?" Frank asked. He wanted to give Gerard something, as a thank you. "On the house."

Gerard smiled and tilted his head as he looked around the room, like he was carefully considering his prospects. Or teasing. "I've got something in mind. But I think I'll collect it later."

Gerard smiled at Frank as he walked past, and their shoulders brushed in the narrow doorway.

Frank forced himself to take a deep breath, and forced himself not to think about it too much.

Gerard had to leave then. Frank was simultaneously relieved and lonely.

He wandered through the rooms, looking at all the stuff he wasn't supposed to think of as junk. The afternoon heat built, and no customers came.

Frank wandered back up into the storeroom with the dishes. He opened the window, trying to catch any breeze. He had to check a few boxes before locating the right one. The plates were still greasy, and it definitely seemed like the same stuff. Frank set the plates back in the box, frowning to himself as he wiped his hands clean.

This bedroom was not directly over his office. That was located in the back of the addition, which was only one story. This bedroom actually looked out over the addition— he went to the window to confirm it. Definitely the roof of the office below.

Frank went downstairs and looked in the room directly underneath the bedroom. It had been the study, and there were still bookshelves lining the walls. Frank poked around, pulled a few books off the shelves at random and checked them, but there was no sign of the oil. Not leaking through the floorboards, then.

 

On Tuesday Frank went to look at new computers. He thought about calling Gerard and asking if he wanted to come, but decided against it. They weren't really at that stage of the relationship. Or any stage of a relationship. And two pathetic phone calls in two days was a bit much.

After the antique shop, Best Buy felt big and bright and clean and full of things Frank couldn't afford and didn't know how to work anyway. He felt overwhelmed. He resolutely went and poked at the laptops, though. If he got a laptop he could take it home at night; his own desktop could use an upgrade.

There were a couple laptops that were much cheaper than he'd been expecting. He picked the one the Best Buy dude told him to, and tried not to wince as he put it on his credit card. At least he'd get to write it off.

 

Wednesday, Frank wasn't sure that Gerard would turn up, since he'd just been there on Monday, but he heard a car outside at 10 am. Frank's heart and stomach did a stupid little leap. He turned on the laptop— he wanted to show it to Gerard— and went out into the front room.

It wasn't Gerard. Frank tried to be a professional and not sulk at the guy, but he wasn't sure he really got "friendly and welcoming" across. Oh well, not like he could get fired. Frank told the guy to come find him or just holler if he had any questions. He tried to stand in the addition and straighten things up without looking like he was just watching out the window for Gerard.

"Excuse me?"

Frank jumped a mile when the guy spoke.

"Sorry!"

"No, it's okay," Frank said. "Just… lost in my own head, I guess. How can I help you?"

"This book," the guy said, holding up a blue cloth-covered volume from the study, "it seems to have some kind of… residue on it. I was wondering if there was a discount for damage?"

 _Residue_ now. "Let me see it." For a moment, Frank felt like he was watching the scene from outside his body, as he held out his hand to receive the book, already knowing what he'd find on it.

It was soaked into the cover along the bottom and side. It had got the pages along the bottom but not the side. They stuck together a little when Frank paged through the book. The dark greasy stain didn't penetrate too far up any of the pages, though. Didn't reach the text.

"Can you show me where you got this from?"

It had been in the middle of a shelf in the middle of a wall. Frank checked the books on either side, but they were fine. Well, there was a spot on the left one, but it was tiny.

"What the fuck?" Frank muttered, rubbing a hand across his face. This didn't make any sense.

"Um, you seem busy," the guy said. "That's okay. I'll, uh, come back later."

Frank should really be trying to make a sale— any sale— but he really was kind of busy. He set the damaged book aside and began pulling books off the shelves. The shelf above was fine, but he found the oil on the shelf below, and on the shelf below that, on a few more books each time, so that Frank had a pyramid of affected books. It was like it had started at the bottom and spread up the middle. Except for how that made no sense in terms of, like, gravity.

"Frank?"

This time it was Gerard, hovering in the doorway, concern on his face. "What's going on?"

"It's the oil! Residue! Whatever. It's on these books now, too." He waved the book the customer had brought him at Gerard, who came into the study and took the book. He flipped through it quickly, frowning.

"This is the same stuff that was in your computer?"

"Yes!" Frank told him about the box of dishes, too, and showed him how it looked like it had spread from the floor up in here. Gerard sat on the floor next to him and listened carefully. When Frank finished, more or less, Gerard reached into the bottom shelf and wiped his finger along it.

The oil was on his finger when he pulled it back. Like Frank had, he sniffed it. Then Gerard shrugged, and touched the tip of his tongue to the oil on his finger.

"Ah!" Frank shouted.

Gerard jumped. "What?"

"What are you doing? Don't eat it!"

"It's just a tiny bit. It tastes…" Gerard smacked his lips around and made a face. "Pretty disgusting, actually. But not like oil. I mean, not like I'd think oil would taste. It tastes more like… dust."

"Oh," Frank said. "That's probably just the dust. It's kind of dusty in here."

"I hadn't noticed," Gerard drawled. "There's something else, there, though. I don't know how to describe it. It's weird."

"I'll take your word for it," Frank said, making a face. Gerard laughed and wiped his hand on his jeans.

"Should we check upstairs again?" Gerard asked.

It was strange for Frank to walk up the stairs with Gerard close behind. It sent all kinds of wrong signals to his brain. He was relieved that there wasn't a bed in the small back bedroom. The box of dishes was where Frank had left it the other day, pulled out into the middle of the floor. Frank pulled the platter out for Gerard to see.

"Did you try washing it off?" Gerard asked.

"Uh… no." Frank took the platter into the main upstairs bathroom and ran the sink tap for a little bit, until the water turned clear— Frank never used the upstairs bathroom— and tried running the platter under the stream of water. There wasn't anything up here to scrub with, but there wasn't really anything in the kitchen, either.

It washed off about as easily as oil, so it was a pain in the ass. It looked clean, but after Frank dried the platter on his shirt he thought the edge still felt a little greasy. That could be his imagination though, or it could be on his fingers.

Frank went back to his desk, noticed a bag of almonds, and realized he had completely missed lunch, which just might also have something to do with his headache.

He went back out into the main room quickly. "Hey," he said, "have you had lunch yet?"

Gerard smiled slowly. "I haven't, actually."

"I haven't either, I guess I kind of forgot." He rubbed his hair through his hair, and resisted the urge to scuff his foot on the floor. "We could get some, if you want. Do you know any place to go around here?"

"I do, in fact, if you can leave the store for an hour."

Frank grinned. "My boss is kind of an asshole, but I can take a lunch hour."

 

Gerard took them to a truck stop diner. "I promise it's decent," he whispered as they went in. At a more normal volume, he asked "You really didn't know about this place?"

Frank shook his head, but even if he had, he probably wouldn't have gone in. The place looked full of the sort of people who'd shoved Frank into lockers in high school. It also looked a like grease pit of deep-fried BBQ-eating carnivores. Had Frank ever mentioned being a vegetarian to Gerard?

"The salads are really good, actually," Gerard said as they slid into a booth. "And the wraps, too." Frank must have looked doubtful, because Gerard laughed. "I know, right?" he leaned in to whisper. Frank didn't even try to stop himself from leaning in, too. "But the chef here is totally cool. His name is Bob."

Frank couldn't stop himself from bursting out with "Seriously, how do you know more people here than me? I'm pretty sure I've been here longer."

Gerard held his menu in front of his face so it blocked everything but his eyes. His eyes were smiling. "Maybe you just don't get out much."

Frank frowned. "I guess not," he muttered. Wow, way to look like a loser in front of the cute boy. This really was like high school.

Gerard dropped the menu. "Hey, it's cool," he said anxiously. "I _invented_ anti-social hiding at home, okay? I only get out to restaurants, and that's only because my cooking is even worse than talking to strangers."

Frank smiled, only a little reluctantly. He picked up a menu and pretended to study it. Gerard never seemed to have any trouble talking to _him._ "I like cooking. So I guess that's why I never go out to eat."

"Oh, totally," Gerard said, nodding quickly. "Eating alone in a restaurant used to freak me out. I'm getting over it, but it's still kind of awkward at first, you know? That's why I end up talking to the chefs and meeting all the waitresses and stuff."

Frank nodded and started to actually look at the menu. Until Gerard said "So you cook, too?" in a low, sly voice. Frank looked up at Gerard, who immediately hid behind his menu. But Frank still got a glimpse of his red cheeks. As long as they were both teenage girls about this, it was probably okay.

Frank had an avocado-tomato-lettuce-garlic wrap that really was very good, and he was in a very good mood himself by the time they'd finished eating.

The famous Bob heard Gerard was there, or something, and came out to say hi. Bob was blond and pierced and in a band, and definitely much cooler than Frank. No wonder Gerard turned red when he introduced Frank. Frank tried to not let it bum him out, though.

They talked to Bob for a little and then Frank said he really had to get back, like he might have customers or something. When they were idling in front of the store Frank mumbled "Thank you. For lunch and everything. You're right, it was a good place."

"Maybe I'll see you there sometime," Gerard said.

"Yeah." Frank had his hand on the door handle but he was sill reluctant to leave. "So, I didn't get a chance to set anything aside for you today."

"That's okay," Gerard said quickly. "I mean, you seem like you've been really busy." He leaned in close, peering at Frank with a concerned look on his face. " _Are_ you okay?"

"I think so. I mean yeah, I'm fine. Just this… spill, or whatever, is driving me crazy. If I just knew what it was…" Frank shrugged. He wasn't actually sure what that knowledge would give him, other than some peace of mind.

"Okay," Gerard said. "I guess I'll see you soon, then."

"Yeah," Frank said. He finally opened the door. "Thank you— for everything."

Frank was kind of embarrassed about what his voice did there, so he hoped out, slammed the truck door shut, and waved.

Gerard took his time pulling away and Frank was on the porch before he got the truck turned away. Frank waved again as Gerard drove off. Frank felt full, and kind of warm and tingly from being with Gerard so much, and kind of confused about everything else.

He got the old door unlocked and walked into the shop. It was hot and quiet, but a weird kind of quiet, like Frank had just interrupted something, and that something was holding its breath, waiting for Frank to go away so it could get on with whatever it had been doing. There were sunbeams filled with dust and the distant tick of a clock, and nothing looked disturbed, but the air _felt_ disturbed. Frank felt uneasy and he felt very lonely. But not necessarily alone.

Frank walked, very quietly, over to the large fireplace and tried to remove the iron poker from its stand without making a lot of noise. There was some inevitable clanging, and once Frank had the poker in hand he held his breath and listened.

Other than the clock and the pulsing whir of the fans, there was no sound.

If there were burglars in here they were welcome to everything except the new computer, so Frank checked his office first. The door was shut and the room beyond dark, with the laptop asleep on his desk where he'd left it.

Frank kept the poker hanging loosely in his hand as he wandered the rooms, trying the back door in the kitchen. He griped the poker tighter as he went upstairs. It was just as quiet and empty as downstairs, and all the windows just as shut.

Frank sighed at himself and thumped loudly down the stairs. He should just be grateful no one else (Gerard) had been with him. Frank had just put the poker back in its holder when the ceiling creaked. Frank jumped, then snorted in disgust at himself. The building creaked all the time and he had never jumped before.

Frank went into the office, put a Pixies cd into the laptop, and turned the volume up as high as it could go. Fuck this silence shit anyway. Then he thought about lunch with Gerard. He listed all the reasons it definitely wasn't a date, in a secret effort to convince himself it _was_ a date, but it didn't work. It was definitely lunch between friends. But Gerard also didn't seem like he'd be totally opposed to Frank getting in his pants sometime in the future. Maybe.

That was much more interesting to think about, so Frank wandered around and thought about Gerard like the lovesick tween he apparently was, until he realized he was back in the library. He looked at the pulled-out stacks of books and the empty shelves.

Frank felt helpless, and he hated that. If this were a tv show, they'd be running tests on it. Frank couldn't do that, and he couldn't exactly have the police do it, either. There wasn't a crime, except for some minor property damage.

" _Gouge away, gouge away,_ " filtered in from the office, and Frank decided he was so over this. He went into the office and came back with a bunch of grocery bags and a towel. He put all the damaged books in bags and left them outside the back door. He'd put them out with the recycling on Sunday. He rolled up the towel and shoved it into the bottom shelf.

"There," he said. "Take that, motherfucker."

 

"You recycled them?" Gerard asked, disappointed.

"Well yeah." Frank said. "I couldn't sell them like that. Why, did you want them?"

Gerard shrugged. "I had an idea for torn-out pages."

"I'm sorry," Frank said. "I would have given them to you. If you want, you can go in back and pick out some other books."

"I don't want to ruin good books," Gerard frowned.

"They're not good," Frank said, and grinned. Gerard grinned back. "They're a lot of those books rich people buy just to fill out their library shelves," Frank explained. "Like, _Mechanical Plows of the Shenandoah Valley_ or something."

Gerard nodded. "I know what you mean. It's always so disappointing to go into those big private libraries and find absolutely nothing you'd want to read."

"My grandma used to take me to a lot of old houses," Frank said. "And I only ever saw one that had books it seemed like people would actually read. They had, like, a shelf full of Charles Dickens. And I was like: Wow! Books I've heard of."

Gerard nodded again. "Totally. Such a waste."

"So you can take any you want." Frank waved in the general direction of the library. "Nobody's going to buy them, anyway."

"I'll buy them," Gerard said, suddenly all anxious and guilty.

"Okay," Frank smiled. "All you can carry for… the price of a frappucino." He tapped the drink Gerard had brought him. Gerard smiled, and kind of blushed. Frank had no idea how far away the nearest Starbucks was, but Gerard had shown up this Wednesday afternoon with two frappucinos. Frank was kind of in love.

"Deal," Gerard said.

Frank was feeling generous anyway, because on Saturday a lady had shown up and bought one of the big beds upstairs for double its real worth. Normally Frank would feel bad about this because she was kind of an old lady, but she'd still had a W sticker on her car, so Frank felt overcharging her was a public service.

"Have you seen anymore of that… stuff?" Gerard asked.

"No," Frank said, although to be honest he hadn't really looked. In fact, he'd deliberately not looked.

When they finished their drinks they left the kitchen for the library. They picked through the lame books, laughing at some of them.

Frank left the study to get a bag, and when he returned he found Gerard kneeling in front of the affected bookcase, which Frank had otherwise managed to keep him away from. Gerard was pulling out the towel Frank had shoved onto the lower shelf.

Frank decided it was stupid to be annoyed and said "Find anything?" in a neutral voice.

Gerard jumped— probably guilty that Frank had caught him making himself at home again— and sort of flailed the towel around. "I just wanted to see if the oil was still all over the place."

Frank knelt next to him and they examined the towel, at first gingerly, then shaking it out and holding it up to look at the whole thing. "There doesn't seem to be anything on it." Gerard sounded disappointed.

Frank peered at the shelf, but it was too dark to see if there was any oil on it. "Maybe it's gone," he said.

"Still," said Gerard. "What the fuck was it?"

"If it's gone," Frank sighed. "I don't think I care."

Gerard was still holding the towel, so he shrugged and tucked it back in the shelf. They sat on the floor in silence for a little while. It was still hot and Frank felt sleepy under the dying caffeine jitters.

"I guess I should go," Gerard sighed.

"Yeah," Frank said. Neither of them moved for another minute.

"Okay," Gerard said. "I mean it this time. I need to wash my hands, anyway."

"I'll bag the books," Frank said, dragging himself to his feet.

Frank put the five books they'd chosen in the bag and tested the weight.

"Hey Frank?" Gerard called.

"What?"

"Come here a minute."

Frank left the bag on the floor and found Gerard in the tiny half-bath next to the stairs. "What is it?"

"Is this that oil stuff?" Gerard pointed to the dark space behind the toilet, along the floor.

Frank squeezed between Gerard and the sink and leaned over to squint at it. "I— I think it is. What the fuck."

He swiped his fingers along the smear, almost toppled over, and had to push himself off the toilet to get back up. "Definitely the same oil," Frank said. He held his hand to show Gerard, but Gerard was looking off to the side.

"Oh, um. Yeah. Where is it coming from, do you think?"

Frank washed his fingers off. "I'd say it was seeping up out of the ground or something except for the box upstairs."

"Have you found it anywhere else upstairs?"

"I haven't really looked," Frank admitted.

"We could go look now," Gerard said.

If Gerard wanted to stay, Frank was happy to have him there all day. So they went upstairs again, where it was dim and probably even hotter.

"So we know it's in that bedroom," Gerard mused, pointing to the smallest bedroom.

"And I was just moving stuff around in there," Frank pointed to the bedroom across from the stairs, "and I didn't see it."

"So that leaves…"

"Two other bedrooms, the bathroom, and the linen closet," Frank said.

"Oh great," Gerard sighed, but grinned at Frank. "So should we start at the other end of the house from the room we know it's in and work towards it?"

Frank shrugged, and lead the way down the hall. That put them in the master bedroom, which had a depressing amount of shit in it.

Gerard looked around and took his jacket off, laying it carefully on a tall stack of boxes. _So it does come off_ , Frank thought, and bit his lips so he wouldn't smile.

"I can open the windows," Frank said.

"That might be a good idea," Gerard nodded.

Frank went around and opened windows while Gerard started poking at boxes.

"Is there any kind of order to these?" Gerard asked.

"If there is, I don't know about it," Frank said.

"We might need a knife— oh no, I got it."

Frank went to work on his own box, and for a few minutes cardboard and tape and newspaper made the only sounds in the room.

"How many crystal vases does the world need, seriously?" Frank asked with a sigh.

"And why are they all ugly?" Gerard asked.

"More seriously," Frank said, "is there any way to make a crystal vase so it _isn't_ ugly?"

They smiled over their boxes and it was kind of a long moment. They opened new boxes.

"Holy shit, Frank," Gerard, excitement making his voice squeaky.

"What?" Frank picked his way across the room. "Did you find the oil?"

"No, there's a fuck-ton of 45s in this box."

"Seriously?" Frank nudged Gerard to the side a little. "Anything good?"

"There's a bunch of swing records in here," Gerard said. "People will pay a shitload of money for those, man."

"Assuming they haven't melted." Frank carefully started flipping through the 45s.

"You might have a whole record store up here and not know it."

Frank snorted. "I wish. It's be pretty cool to have a record store, I think. At least it'd be something I'm interested in."

"Why do you keep the antique store, then?" Gerard asked quietly. They were still slowly flipping through the records, like it was a lazy Saturday afternoon in someone else's store.

"I guess I feel like I owe to my grandma, you know? She left me the store for a reason. Just wish I knew what it was," he finished with a mutter.

"I'm sure she wouldn't want you to be miserable," Gerard said gently.

"I'm not miserable," Frank said, before he remembered he wasn't talking to his mom. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm kind of miserable," he admitted. "But I'm also kind of sick of being a failure."

"It wouldn't make you a failure," Gerard continued in his soft, warm voice. "You tried something and it didn't work out so you try something else. At the most it's a… strategic retreat."

Frank smiled at that. Their fingers were brushing, balanced on the edge of the next record. They flipped it, and neither of them looked at the records in the box. Gerard's face was very close, a few strands of black hair falling into his face. His eyes looked gold and his lashes were really long. Frank looked at Gerard's cute upturned nose and his crooked mouth that Frank was kind of obsessed with. Frank sort of forgot to look away from Gerard's mouth. He watched it form his name.

"Frank?" It was barely more than a whisper.

"Thank you," Frank said. "For helping me out with this. I probably seem crazy."

"No problem," Gerard said. "I don't mind. I don't—" he licked his lips. "I guess I get kind of lonely out here by myself. I like hanging out here."

"I like it when you're here," Frank admitted. "I guess I get pretty lonely too."

Gerard's fingers brushed his deliberately. Frank's deep inhale was shaky.

Gerard wrapped his fingers around Frank's and pulled them away from the records, bringing their hands up between them.

"Frank," Gerard said. "I might be being too presumptuous…"

"No," Frank said.

"No? Oh I—" Gerard's grip on Frank's hand slackened, and Frank grabbed Gerard's hand and squeezed.

"No, I mean— you're not. You really can't be too presumptuous. Presume everything you want."

Frank smiled.

Gerard smiled.

Gerard returned the squeeze and then leaned forward. Frank closed his eyes and tilted his face up, and felt Gerard's breath, and nose, and mouth. Gerard was tentative but Frank was kind of done with tentative and he pressed back hard. Their mouths opened, and Frank felt the wet slide of Gerard's tongue across his lip, against his own tongue.

Frank surged forward and wrapped a hand in Gerard's shirt, pulling him closer, as close as they could get, kicking a box out of their way.

It was really too hot for this, being pressed up against someone so close, but Frank didn't care. Anything that wasn't making out with Gerard was a terrible idea. They stood there forever, or long enough for it to count as forever. Long enough for Frank to get used to the way Gerard tasted, the way it felt to have Gerard's hands moving restlessly on his back.

The kisses were sometimes lazy and sometimes urgent, with more towards urgent as they went on, and Frank's pants were getting really uncomfortable now. He wiggled, trying to adjust the fit without taking his hands off Gerard, and Gerard gasped into his mouth. He bit Frank's lip, too, maybe on accident, and just a little, but Frank was so fucking done for then. He couldn't stop the jerk of his hips into Gerard, or the little moan.

Gerard stopped kissing him, fingers still entrapped in Frank's hair, and asked "There's a bed under there, right?"

Frank nodded, gulping air, and thought _Oh shit, this is going to happen._

And somehow they shoved all the boxes off and Frank laid down and pulled Gerard after him because the mattress was probably gross and Frank really shouldn't be laying on it, but he didn't want Gerard laying on it either.

And then it was all Gerard's leg between Frank's, providing pressure and friction and Frank was thinking about how gross the mattress was, about roadkill, about _anything just don't come yet_. He kissed Gerard until it felt like his mouth shouldn't work anymore. Gerard's hands slid under Frank's shirt, and Frank whined and wiggled until the shirt made it over his head. He was trying to get his hand down the front of Gerard's jeans, but he was definitely going to have to undo them to get any serious action going. Gerard's hips were jerking like he couldn't control it, and Frank almost didn't care that made it really hard to get the button undone.

Fly open, finally they were getting somewhere. They both shoved and kicked until Gerard's jeans were off. Someone had their pants off, and someone had their shirt off. "Halfway there," Frank sighed. Gerard laughed and took advantage of Frank's distraction to attack his pants. Frank didn't mind at all.

As soon as Frank was naked he reached for Gerard's dick— at last— and Gerard let out a needy little whimper that made Frank bite his lip so he wouldn't come just from listening to Gerard. Biting his own lip hurt, so he bit Gerard's shoulder next. Gerard gasped and shoved at Frank a bit so he could wrap his hand around Frank's dick. Clearly, Gerard was a genius because that was a much better idea.

It was hot and they were covered in sweat and the bed was really loud and it felt so, so fucking good. Frank was thinking about maybe sliding down (because he'd been thinking about going down on Gerard a lot), when he felt a tightening behind his knees, in his back, everywhere, and realized no, he wasn't going to go down on Gerard because he was about to come. He was going to warn Gerard but by the time he'd remembered how to talk he was coming.

Frank floated for a moment, all _fuck yeah_ about everything, then realized he was being a jerk 'cause Gerard was still twitching on the bed next to him. Gerard gasped when Frank pushed him on his back. Frank grinned and didn't mess around, just sucked Gerard into his mouth. Gerard made that seriously fantastic whimper again, his hips twitching like he could barely control them, and that was good. Frank was just starting to get into the rhythm of the thing when Gerard tugged at his hair. Frank backed off a little but still let Gerard come in his mouth.

He lay next to Gerard, eyes closed, feeling little pricks of coolness as the sweat evaporated off his skin and listening to Gerard's breathing normalize. Frank's life was awesome.

"Can I smoke in here?" Gerard asked eventually.

"If you give me one," Frank said. His grandma would have killed him but… it was Frank's store now, so fuck it.

Gerard found the cigarettes but was still looking for a lighter when the front door opened and closed, accompanied by the tinkle of the bell. Frank looked at Gerard, and wondered if his eyes could possibly be any wider than Gerard's.

Then Frank scrambled off the bed and started pulling his clothes on. Gerard had clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter. "I feel like my parents just walked in," Frank muttered.

Gerard struggled not to burst out laughing. "Don't put your shirt on, Frankie," he whispered with difficulty. "Wash up first!"

"Shit," Frank said.

He ran across to the bathroom and splashed water on his stomach because yeah, dried come. Frank pulled on his shirt and ran down the stairs. "Hello?"

"Oh! I was wondering if anyone worked here." It was a mother with two small kids. Wasn't that just great. Frank followed them around, answering questions, trying to keep one eye on the kids— who of course ran off in different directions— in case they broke anything. The next twenty minutes were really annoying, and Frank's brain kept wandering back upstairs, wondering if Gerard had all his clothes back on yet.

The mother was trying to decide between one ugly figurine and another excruciatingly ugly figurine. Frank was trying not to worry about the kids; maybe they'd break something expensive for their mom to buy.

"Hey," Gerard whispered. He was creeping down the stairs, fully dressed of course. Even the jacket was back on.

"Hey," Frank went over to him.

Gerard looked apologetic, and Frank's heart sank. "I kind of have to go. Sorry." Frank was about to say "That's okay" without meaning it, but Gerard kept talking. "I'm going to New York tomorrow and there's still a bunch of stuff I have to pack. I'll be there through the weekend—" Frank's mood sank further— "staying with my brother, and then he'll be coming back with me for awhile, so…"

So Frank probably wouldn't be seeing Gerard for awhile. He nodded, hoping he didn't look as crushed as he felt.

"…You'll get to meet him!" Gerard smiled.

Frank blinked. "Oh. Right. Cool." He managed a real smile, and Gerard beamed.

"Um," Gerard looked a bit anxiously at the customer, who was watching them out of the corner of her eye.

"Let's go to my office,' Frank murmured. He mostly closed the door behind them, leaving it cracked a little in case the customer called for him.

"I am sorry I have to leave like this," Gerard said, inching close to Frank. "I didn't, um, plan this or anything so…"

"It's okay," Frank smiled, because it was now, and he leaned up and kissed Gerard. Gerard tasted like cigarette, reminding Frank he'd been robbed of a smoke. He wrapped his fingers in Gerard's hair to tug his head down. Gerard hummed and put his hands on Frank's hips, pulling him closer.

"Excuse me?" the woman's voice got noticeably frosty. When Frank turned around she was standing in the doorway, glaring at them.

Frank didn't care. Gerard's hands were still on his waist and this was his own office.

"Can I help you?" Frank asked.

"No, thank you. I think I'll look for a more _family-friendly_ establishment."

He heard Gerard huff behind him, but Frank coolly watched her set the excruciatingly ugly figurine down and walk out of the addition, calling for her kids.

Frank snorted and turned to look at Gerard. Gerard looked horrified. "Did I just cost you a sale?" he asked.

They heard a crash in the other room, and a small child shout "uh-oh!"

"Nah," Frank grinned.

 

Once the really pissed off mother paid for the broken teapot, and Gerard kissed him goodbye on the front porch and promised to call him, Frank pulled a kitchen chair out into the backyard and finally had a smoke.

This was definitely the best day Frank could remember in a long time. He had sex! With Gerard! Who was totally into him! And now they had a thing! A meeting-family-thing! And the obnoxious homophobic mother who ruined their afterglow had to pay him $60 for nothing and got rid of an ugly-ass teapot for him! Karmic bitchslaps were so awesome when they happened to other people.

"Fan-fucking-tasic," Frank said, just to hear it.

He had another cigarette after the first one, 'cause why not, and then stayed in the chair for a little while. The sunlight was bright on his eyes, and he closed his eyes against it and felt the warm light on his face.

 

Frank woke with a jolt. The day was heading into dusk, and Frank was seriously the worst shop keeper ever. He dragged the chair back into the kitchen and took a quick look around. It didn't seem like anyone else had come in; Frank believed he would have heard if someone called for him.

He wasn't supposed to close for another hour, but there didn't seem to be much point in staying. He started closing up the windows downstairs and locked the back door. He went upstairs to close the windows, too. It looked like Gerard had straightened up a little in the bedroom; at least there was a clear path from the bed to the door. It looked incredibly obvious to Frank. It still smelled a little of smoke but not really like sex anymore. Frank's belt had somehow ended up under the bed, so he put that back on. "So classy," he muttered, rolling his eyes at himself.

Gerard has also put the box of 45s securely on another box. Frank moved the records out in to the hallway. He shut the windows without looking more than twenty times at the bed. He did a quick glance in the other upstairs rooms. He didn't remember opening any windows other than the ones in the master bedroom, but… no, there in the smallest bedroom, one of those windows was open.

Frank frowned— he really didn't remember opening it today— but shut it and latched it, and then tested it. It creaked but didn't open. This room felt weird now, and Frank felt compelled to glance over his shoulder. No one else was there, of course. Frank shrugged it off and shut the bedroom door as he left the room. He rattled the knob a bit to make sure the door would stay closed. He didn't normally shut the bedroom doors, but he didn't really want to look at that room. Probably had to do with the oil that was driving him so crazy.

Frank turned off the hall light and carefully made his way down the stairs with the box of 45s. He left them in his office, packed up the laptop, and stood in what used to be the entrance hall, before the walls were knocked down to make the main room. He still had a while until closing, but he'd sort of already turned the lights off. It was Wednesday night, no one was going to come.

Frank didn't really feel guilty as he hit the last lights, turned the sign around, and locked the door behind him.

 

Gerard took a break from packing to call him. He wanted to complain because he'd stapled his sleeve to a crate. Frank admitted falling asleep at work for hours, and they laughed at themselves (but more at Gerard). Neither of them mentioned the sex-thing, but it was in the air anyway, Frank thought, in the warmth of their tone of voice or something. When they hung up, Frank went to bed and slept really well for what felt the first time in a long time.

 

Frank was pretty sure today would be good. Not as good as yesterday, of course, but still good. There was even a hint of freshness in the morning air. Frank holed up in his office and made a list of the 45s, which was actually kind of fun. A customer came in around noon, looking at crystal vases. That reminded Frank of the box he'd found yesterday, so he went upstairs to bring it down.

Frank was leaving the master bedroom with the crystal vase box in his arms when he happened to glance down at the other end of the hall. And then he did a double take. The smallest bedroom's door was open.

This was the first time Frank had been upstairs today, and he very distinctly remembered closing the door last night, remembered jiggling the handle to make _sure_ it was closed. Maybe when he'd tried the handle he'd loosened it. Must have been. And yet… the door had been shut. That had been the whole point of checking the handle.

Frank shook his head— it didn't really matter right now— and took the box downstairs. The customer was kind of giddy over the vases in the box, so Frank knew to charge him a lot. Maybe he wasn't _totally_ bad at this.

Once the customer left with his boxful of vases, Frank rearranged the vases that were left and put on a new cd. He wrote a text to Gerard but didn't send it. Finally, Frank gave in and went back upstairs.

He felt uneasy at once but ignored it. He went to the smallest bedroom and stuck his head in the door. Nothing looked disturbed. Of course. He shut the door and jiggled the handle again. It seemed closed. Frank pushed against the door and it stayed shut.

Frank rubbed a hand across his face. It was heating up again, and it was worse up here than downstairs. "What the hell am I doing?" he muttered. So the door had opened; who cared? It was an old house and the door probably didn't fit—

There was a loud crash behind him: a whoosh, a thump, and the sound of shattering. Frank jumped, bumping into the shut door, which definitely stayed shut, and Frank scrambled a little to turn around.

The noise sounded like it had come from the bedroom across the hall. Frank hadn't been in there since… he couldn't remember. Frank decided to just man up, and surged across the hall and threw the door open.

The room was empty. It took Frank a few moments to pick out the box that had fallen. He rolled it over carefully, wincing as the pieces of whatever clinked around inside. Frank pulled the box open. Whatever porcelain had been inside was in a lot of pieces. Frank looked around, but there was no way to tell where the box had fallen from. The window was shut, so it didn't seem like a breeze had come through and pushed it off.

"No, seriously," Frank said to the house at large. "What the fuck?"

He took the box of broken shards downstairs and dumped it. Frank was just coming back into the house when a door upstairs slammed. Frank kind of wanted to scream in frustration; instead he ran up the stairs. There must be a draft up there. It had blown the box off and now it had blown the door shut.

But when he got into the upstairs hallway he found the doors exactly as he'd left them. All open, except for the linen closet and the smallest bedroom. He checked all the rooms again; they were all empty, all exactly as he'd left them.

Frank went out back and had a smoke. He might be going crazy. There was always that. He finally decided he'd couldn't deal with this shit right now, and closed for lunch.

The truck stop diner was crowded, so Frank sat at the counter. He ordered coffee and a sandwich. He'd feel better after getting some food in him, and when he went back to the store this bullshit would be done.

"Frank, right?" Bob said, setting down a plate with Frank's sandwich and an extra pickle. "Where's Gee Way?"

"Thanks. New York. And yeah, it's Frank."

Frank took a giant bite of the sandwich. "This is really good," Frank said.

"Thanks. I try." Bob got himself a cup of coffee and hung out by Frank. Frank felt kind of awkward. "What brings you out today? Besides my Michelin star sandwich making, of course."

Frank put the sandwich down and wiped his hands thoroughly. "Work's kind of weird. I needed a break."

Bob frowned. "Don't you have a store or something? Gerard says he's always over there getting stuff for his art."

Frank nodded. "Antiques store. Used to be my grandma's. But, like…" he lifted the sandwich and put it down without taking a bite. "I don't know. It's been weird in there lately." Frank found himself talking about the oil, and how it spread, and how now he couldn't understand what was going on upstairs and maybe he was going crazy.

"Maybe you have a ghost," Bob said. "I mean, slamming doors and stuff moving around on its own."

Frank snorted, but Bob raised an eyebrow like he was serious. "Okay," Frank said. "So there's a ghost— why does it show up now? I've been there for two years and my grandma had the store for like, decades before that. Nothing like this has ever happened before. I thought hauntings were, like, _permanent_ unless you had an exorcism or something."

Bob shrugged. "I'm not an expert or anything. But it's probably better than just you going crazy, right?" Bob clapped a hand on Frank's shoulder, finished his coffee in a giant gulp, and went back to the kitchen.

Frank finished his sandwich and ate both pickles. Well, it certainly wasn't _worse_ than going crazy.

Frank got back to the store and he slowly climbed the stairs. It seemed still and hushed inside, and the heat made it oppressive. "Um, hi," Frank said aloud, slowly turning around as he spoke, since he didn't really know where to speak to. "I don't know what's going on, or if you're really here, or what, but… I work here and my name is Frank. Maybe you used to live here? You're welcome to stay, you know. I'm sure we can get along. Just don't break things anymore? Now that I know you're here— is that what you wanted? Recognition? I'm sure we can both hang out here, it might be kind of nice. So… are we cool?"

Frank felt pretty stupid, talking to something that probably wasn't actually there. Frank wasn't even sure he believed in ghosts. He sighed, shrugged.

The hall light exploded.


	2. Part 2

Frank gasped and jumped out of the way, automatically throwing his hands over his head as glass flew down. He cringed against the wall until he was sure no more glass was going to fly at him. There were a couple cuts on his hands. He stared up at the exploded light bulb and fixture, which hadn't even been on.

"I guess we're not cool," he muttered.

Frank didn't want to hang up there any more than he had to, so he went to the downstairs bathroom and checked himself over, but his face hadn't been cut and he couldn't see anything in his hair. He dug out an old first aid kit, and used tweezers to pull a shard of glass out of one of the cuts. He splashed some disinfectant on his hands and went into the office and shut the door.

He wasn't hiding. Not at all. Except that he was totally freaked out. What were the chances of that light exploding on its own, right at that moment? His hands were kind of shaking, so Frank gripped the edge of the desk tightly. What the hell was he going to do? If there was a ghost— and it seemed like he might as well entertain the possibility— then it wasn't happy. And it could hurt him.

"Who you gonna call?" he said morosely. Dr. Venkman probably wasn't going to show up on his doorstep anytime soon. Frank had no idea what to do now. If there was really a ghost— and it could, in theory, still be just really weird coincidences— did he call an exorcist? How did you even find an exorcist? The Vatican Yellow Pages?

Frank hid in his office the rest of the day, playing with the 45s, which now seemed to represent a kinder, saner world. One person came in just to ask for directions, and Frank locked up early again. He didn't go upstairs at all, just locked the doors on his way out.

He spent a lot of time that night googling, but came up empty-handed. Nothing about anything like the oil Frank had found, too much about ghosts to be useful, no exorcists advertising who didn't seem extremely sketch.

Reluctantly, he went back the next morning. He stayed downstairs, dusting and moving things around. He rearranged the books so that the giant gap wasn't so noticeable. Fridays tended to be a bit busier, and there was a small but almost steady stream of people in the shop.

It was enough to distract Frank, and when the day passed and nothing weird happened, he started to think he'd been overreacting. There was a draft upstairs and the wiring in this place definitely sucked; the light exploding had just been a coincidence. He needed to call an electrician, not an exorcist.

At 5 p.m. Frank turned the Open sign to Closed, and went into the office to grab his computer. He would call Gerard tonight, he decided. He'd tell him about the exploding light and they'd laugh about it. Gerard might express some concern that Frank had gotten hurt. Frank would say it was nothing, while making sure to mention it had _rained glass._ Or would _hail of glass_ be better?

Frank was imagining what else they might talk about, off in Gerard daydream land again, slowly wrapping up the cables to fit in the bag, when a very loud thump nearby shook the floor and made Frank jump.

He dropped the cable on his desk and rushed out of his office. Nothing disturbed that he could see in the addition, or as far as he could see in the main room. He looked in the library. Oh yes, there it was.

Every book was on the floor. It was like they'd all simultaneously thrown themselves off the shelves. Frank's memory helpfully replayed the thump and he thought he remembered now that it hadn't been one solid thump but a bunch of smaller thuds all occurring at the same time. Frank didn't look any further; this had definitely been it.

The shelves were on all four walls and no book was left on them; no little earthquake or settling foundation had done this. The exploding light was a lot less funny again.

"Fuck you so much," Frank said quietly, rubbing his head where a pounding ache had shown up out of nowhere. He'd just rearranged these _today._

The idea of it not being a ghost was gone for good now. There was a ghost, and it was fucking with him. He was also pretty sure it could hear him. He didn't know why; maybe he subconsciously felt like he was being watched. But Frank felt like there was _something_ there, watching and listening and waiting to see what he'd do.

What Frank really wanted to do was get the fuck out and not come back. But there was no way to make that viable. He looked at the books, which weren't stacked on the floor or anything but scattered everywhere in sloppy heaps, open, pages bent. The door of the library had been taken off a long time ago; Frank was going to have to pick them up before he opened tomorrow because there was no way to hide the mess.

"Fuck you _so_ much," Frank said again.

He didn't put them back in any kind of order, just shoved them on shelves. It still took a couple hours to get them all back up. A couple times the house creaked around him. Frank didn't know if it was natural or the ghost fucking with him; he was too mad to really care.

When he'd filled all but the top shelves, he just stacked the rest of the books on the table. It was getting dark outside and Frank was starving. "If you ever do this again," he said, "I'm calling the fucking Pope on your ass."

Frank stomped back into his office, shoved the cable in the bag, and stomped out of the store.

It wasn't until he got home that he noticed Gerard had called him at some point. He listened to the voicemail while he stared hopelessly into his fridge.

"Hi, Frank. It's Gerard. I, um, was just calling to say hi. I'm going to be at the show all night tonight so I thought I'd try and call you before… anyway, I hope things are going okay. It's actually going pretty well here, so maybe I'll talk to you tomorrow. Bye."

Feeling sorry for himself, Frank finally just made a PB&J and went to bed.

 

Saturday, Frank got up early because it was the big antiquing day and he opened early to take advantage of that. He felt worn-out and kind of raw, and he opened the shop like he was preparing to do battle. He was most nervous about going into the library. He sagged in relief when he found things exactly the way he'd left them.

"Thank you," he said. "See, we can get along."

It was pure luck that Frank turned when he did. His reaction was automatic; he didn't even realize it was a vase that was flying at his head until it shattered on the wall behind him. But only because he automatically ducked out of the way of anything that came at his face. All that school bullying finally paid off.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me!" Frank shouted. He stood up. "You better not pull any of that shit when customers are in the store, motherfucker, or it's priest time."

He no longer felt stupid shouting at thin air. He knew It could hear him. He got a broom and swept up, just finishing as the first customers came in. Frank chased after his customers today like they were all kindergartners and he was the teacher. He was worried the ghost would try something. He didn't know on what grounds they'd sue when an object threw itself through the air at them, but no doubt there was a lawyer willing to take the case somewhere.

Nothing happened, but Frank stayed paranoid and alert. It was probably just waiting for him to relax his guard. It was kind of awkward for him to follow people around, too. Some of them liked it and some of them didn't, but Frank didn't want to leave anyone alone.

Gerard called at lunch but Frank missed it again. Gerard sounded a little worried; Frank would have to call him and at least leave a message today.

In spite of all the people there weren't a lot of sales, just a print here and a bit of costume jewelry there. Frank felt like he'd exhausted himself for no reason, and he was bent out of shape at both the ghost and the living people.

He'd have to do it all again tomorrow, too, although at least he didn't open until 10. Frank showed his last customer (1950s English tea service) out the door at 6:15 and flipped the sign with a sigh of relief. "Thank you," he sighed.

Maybe Frank wouldn't get called on his priest bluff. Maybe the ghost was like a kid, testing boundaries. Maybe they could make this work.

A door upstairs slammed shut.

"See?" Frank said. "Was that so hard?"

Frank went in the office to get his computer bag— he'd never had time to unpack it— and grabbed the stack of the day's receipts. Even if they were getting along, Frank didn't want to stay there any longer than he had to. He could do the bookkeeping at home.

He went back to the front door and tugged on it. It was already locked. Frank was about 99% sure he hadn't locked it. "Are you trying to be helpful?" he asked uncertainly. Maybe it was some fucked-up Casper situation.

He looped the computer bag around his neck so it wouldn't slide off his shoulder and unlocked the door. He tugged, then tugged more sharply. The door still wouldn't open. Frank locked the door and unlocked it again. The door still wouldn't open.

"You're not funny," Frank said, but quietly this time. He wasn't sure he wanted It to hear. He calmly locked the door again and forced himself to walk casually toward the kitchen. He wanted to run, wanted to throw the kitchen door open and run out, but he forced himself to act like he wasn't bothered.

The house was silent as Frank walked across the kitchen, except for the ticking of the clock, which sounded unnaturally loud, even over the sound of Frank's breathing, which sounded loud to him, and the squeak of his shoes on the floor, and of course the sound of his own heart, pounding in his ears.

He reached out and tried the doorknob, which didn't turn.

His heart stopped; but he remembered that he'd locked it, much earlier. His fingers slipped on the small latch but he turned it. He twisted the knob, and pushed, and wondrously the door opened. Like doors were supposed to.

Frank licked his lips, about to call out "Goodnight" when heavy scratching alerted him. He looked over his shoulder, and realized it was the heavy kitchen table making that noise, as it was pushed across the kitchen floor. Slow, then it seemed to jump, almost flying across the floor, and Frank jumped out of the doorway.

He fell, tumbling to the edge of the porch, half on his computer. He was disoriented for a moment. There had been a huge crash, and it took him a few seconds to figure out the noise hadn't been made by him. It was the table, slamming into the doorway and its flanking cabinets. Some wood somewhere had cracked. Frank didn't really care.

He lurched gracelessly to his feet, adrenaline still rushing through him and making him shake. The kitchen door hung open, the table shoved as close as it could get to the opening. He approached cautiously, but nothing moved. He grabbed the kitchen door at arm's length. He hesitated over locking it, but did it anyway, and slammed the door shut.

He jumped off the porch and ran across the yard, down the side of the house, and across the drive to his car. He locked himself in and sat for a moment, shaking.

He'd been treating this thing like a _kid._ But the light, the vase, and now the table— it was a solid wood, butcher block style table. If it had hit him at that velocity, in the back, it would have crushed his spine. Frank had been trying to reason with It; for the first time, he considered that It might not be reasonable. Whatever It was, It wasn't human. Maybe It never had been.

Frank took a couple deep breaths, until he either felt he was okay to drive or just couldn't stand sitting in front of the house any longer. He didn't examine things too closely. He pulled out and drove home quickly.

He looked at his computer; it seemed fine. He carefully focused only on entering the day's receipts, not letting his mind stray from the numbers. He went to bed without eating, and slept very badly. He completely forgot that he hadn't called Gerard back.

 

Frank gave up on sleep at 6 a.m. He was starving and needed to be around people, so he went to the truck stop diner. It was almost deserted. There was an old trucker in a flannel shirt nursing a coffee in a far corner, and that was it besides the sleepy waitress. Frank sat at the counter so the waitress would be forced to keep him company.

"Is Bob here?" he asked, as she filled his coffee cup.

"Oh no, honey," she said. "He don't do breakfast."

Figured. Frank drank his coffee and ate his pancakes as slowly as he could. The place gradually filled up a little with people and noise. He got coffee refills until he got the jitters. After another trip to the bathroom, the waitress said "You puttin' somethin' off, sugar?"

"Yeah," Frank admitted. He didn't elaborate and she didn't ask.

As tempting as it was to hang around until lunch, Frank finally left just before ten o'clock. He drove so slowly he got honked at; Frank automatically flipped the car off as it passed him. What did they know about anything, after all?

He was seriously contemplating just staying around long enough to put up a "closed until further notice" sign, but there was already a car in the parking lot when he pulled up, and some anxious patrons at the door.

"Fuck," Frank said. He wished he at least had time for a fortifying cigarette. Or a fortifying bottle of scotch.

He smiled apologetically as he climbed out of the car. "Sorry I'm late,' he called. He tried to keep up with the couple's small talk, but he had to unlock the front door now and he was worried about not being able to get it open, and what he'd see behind it if he could get it open, and also kind of terrified in general of getting killed by an angry ghost.

The lock didn't stick any more than it usually did, and he pushed the door open easily. Like last night hadn't happened. The jumble inside didn't look any different than it usually did. The hat rack and the horse hair wing chair and the shelves of breakables looked like old friends.

Frank walked all the way in and turned on the lights, trying to smile at the couple. The woman was little and blonde and perky, and the guy would clearly rather be at home watching sports. Frank introduced himself and told them to look around and just ask if they had any questions— his usual— and forced himself to look in the kitchen.

The table was back in the middle of the room. He turned on the lights but stayed in the doorway as he looked around. All the chairs were in place, and it was a while before Frank noticed the crack in one of the cupboard doors near the back door, where the table had slammed into it last night. It was more disturbing, seeing it this way, knowing nothing human had placed the furniture so carefully.

Frank was abruptly furious— the kitchen was his favorite part of this place, and now he was too afraid to go inside. He shut the door behind him, the one between the kitchen and what used to be the dining room, and was always kept open, and went into his office, turning on all the lights he could reach. He scrawled "Staff Only" on a piece of paper, grabbed some tape, and stuck it on the door that led into the kitchen. He should figure out some way to block off the upstairs, too.

The woman bought a rocking chair. Frank wondered if she was pregnant, or giving it to someone else. Or maybe she just wanted a rocking chair. He helped carry the chair out and fit it in their car. He was sorry to see them go. She reminded him of Buffy, and Frank could really, really use Buffy right now.

And, of course, there was the little fact that the ghost only seemed to act up when Frank was alone.

Customers were fewer today, but the store was quiet. Nothing moved on its own, no flying books or kamikaze vases. Maybe ignoring It was the right thing to do. Frank still got an adrenaline rush with every creak.

Frank had still not been back upstairs, and he wanted to block it off. He confined his search for a chain or rope to the lower floor. He finally settled on a long cord for a hanging lamp, and wrapped one end around each banister. He fiddled with it until it stayed put, then taped a piece of paper on it that said "NO ENTRY."

It looked super ghetto. Frank left it anyway.

It started to rain early in the afternoon. The grey light and rain were soothing, and Frank spent a while in his office playing solitaire, trying not to nod off. It was almost like he had a normal job in a normal building.

At least until a cupboard door somewhere slammed shut.

Frank jumped, heart pounding. It was the opening salvo. The ghost always started small. Always worked Its way up to worse.

He stayed in his office, gripping his desk, listening. All he heard was the rain. He eventually relaxed and leaned back in his chair. He was so fucking tired of this, so fucking tired in general.

It would be awhile, he thought, until It attacked him. Maybe It had worn itself out yesterday and needed to time to build up Its strength.

Frank's bad night was catching up to him. His eyes burned, so he shut them. All he could hear was the rain.

Frank opened his eyes, unsure if he'd slept, and if he had, what woke him. He sat for a moment, trying to get his bearings, listening, before he realized there were footsteps in the main room. He rubbed his eyes and tried to pull himself together a bit. He got up and went into the showroom, where he came face to face with—

"Gerard!" he gaped, too stunned to do more than stare. Somehow, it had started to feel like Gerard couldn't come back until the ghost problem was resolved.

"Hi, Frank." Gerard colored.

"You're back early," Frank said, not really thinking about what he was saying.

Gerard looked distinctly uncomfortable. "You weren't answering your phone," he muttered. "I was worried." Frank immediately felt a rush of guilt— he only now remembered he'd never called Gerard back. "I guess—" Gerard continued, now sounding unhappy, "I guess I was just being stupid. Obviously you're fine. Sorry. I—" Gerard gave a weird sort of shrug and started to turn away. "I guess I thought— nevermind. Sorry. I'll get out of your way."

Frank had no idea what Gerard was talking about, but seriously, he couldn't leave. "Hey," Frank said, reaching out for Gerard's arm.

A shadow appeared behind him, a tall shadow, and Frank yelped a little and jumped.

Gerard, eyes wide, spun back to look at Frank, then jumped around to look behind him. The shadow took a step closer, into the light. It was a rail thin guy, dressed all in black, peering at Frank over his glasses. "Gee?" he said.

Gerard looked twitchy, even for Gerard. "Mikey," he said. _Of course,_ Frank thought, slumping in relief. Of course it was Mikey, Gerard's brother. "Um, we should go," Gerard said.

That jolted Frank back into action. "No," he said, and leapt forward, and this time got his hand around Gerard's arm. "Please don't go. Really. Please. I—" Gerard was staring at Frank, eyes huge. Frank knew he was probably squeezing Gerard's arm painfully tight. "I'm really not fine," Frank continued, keeping his eyes on Gerard's face. "Please don't leave me here alone."

 

It was an incredible relief to sit with Gerard and Mikey in a booth in the diner and lay it all out over coffee and sandwiches while the rain poured down outside and the windows steamed up. Even if they thought he was crazy, he felt better just for telling someone else. He spoke mostly without interruption. Whenever it looked like Gerard was going to interrupt with something, Mikey hushed him. Mikey seemed to be listening as intently as Gerard, which gave Frank's confidence a boost.

He told them what had happened, as he remembered it, leaving out most of his thought process over the past few days. Gerard had already told Mikey about the oil everywhere, so Frank could move onto the opening and closing doors, the light, the books, the flying vase. When he told them about the table, Gerard made a strangled sound and reached across the table to take Frank's hand. Frank squeezed his hand gratefully.

"It's been quiet today," he admitted. "But a cupboard door in the kitchen or something slammed shut a little while before you got there."

"There's only so much energy the entity has to use," Mikey said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "It probably wore itself out last night and needs time to recharge."

Frank stared at him. Not least because that was the most words he'd heard out of Mikey yet.

"How long will it take to recharge?" Gerard asked.

Mikey shrugged.

"You believe me," Frank said, looking back and forth at the brothers Way.

"Well, yeah," Gerard smiled. "You'd be crazy to lie about something like this." He winked at Frank, who rolled his eyes but smiled back. They were still holding hands.

"Gross," Mikey said, with zero expression in his voice.

Gerard shoved his elbow into Mikey's side in a friendly way. Frank already felt much better. The _secret_ part had been wearing on him; now he had allies.

 

"What do you want to do?" Gerard asked. They were sitting in his car, in front of Frank's store. Mikey was so silent Frank had almost forgotten he was in the backseat. The rain had finally tapered off, and with the car off, the only sound was their breathing.

"I need to get rid of it," Frank answered, speaking as quietly as Gerard had.

"How?" Gerard turned around to look at Mikey.

Mikey shrugged. "I'm not really an expert. More an interested amateur."

"So in your amateur opinion," Frank said, "what should we do?"

Mikey pushed his glasses down his nose. "We need to find out what it is before we'll know how to get rid of it."

"How do we find that out?" Frank asked. "It doesn't really talk."

"Well, I brought a ouija board," Mikey said. "But it's at Gerard's house."

"You brought it with you?" Gerard asked, incredulous.

Mikey shrugged. "That black oil stuff you were describing, I dunno, maybe it was ectoplasm."

"Like in _Ghostbusters_?" Frank asked.

"Well… kind of."

"Ew," Frank said after a moment. He turned to Gerard. "Ha ha, you ate ectoplasm."

Gerard made a face. When Mikey stared at him, Gerard said "What?"

"You _ate_ ectoplasm?"

"I just tasted a tiny bit! And we don't even know that's what it is!" He crossed his arms and scowled.

"We should set up a couple of cameras," Mikey said. "And use the ouija board."

They looked back at the dark shop. "We'll need time for that. Could you maybe close tomorrow?" Gerard asked. "I know you'll be off on Tuesday, but… do you really want to work right now?"

"I really don't," Frank admitted. "I almost closed today, to be honest. I'll just… go hang a sign."

To Frank's relief, Gerard and Mikey followed him out of the car. The tiny parking lot, really just a big semi-circular drive, was muddy, but the air was fresher than it had been in what felt like months. They stomped up the porch and Frank unlocked the door.

The air was much stuffier inside. Frank would have opened a window, but hopefully they'd only be there a few minutes. Gerard went over to look at Frank's "rope" over the stairs.

"Classy," he said.

"You do better, Mr. Artist," Frank retorted.

He was pleased when Gerard followed him into the addition, while Mikey poked around the main room.

"I'm really glad you came back early," Frank murmured, concentrating on packing up.

"So am I," Gerard said. "You could have called me, you know," he added, gently reproachful.

"I'm sorry," Frank sighed. "I just got so caught up in the whole thing. And… I guess I'm used to being by myself." He looked up at Gerard then. Gerard looked troubled, and he drifted toward Frank, almost like a ghost himself.

"I knew something was wrong when you didn't return my calls," he said.

"What did you mean, earlier?" Frank frowned slightly. "When you kept saying you were sorry?"

Gerard flushed. "I thought I'd gotten it wrong, you know. That you didn't return my calls because… you didn't want to return my calls."

Frank really frowned. "You really thought I was that kind of guy?"

"No!" Gerard said earnestly. "That's why I thought something was wrong! I thought you were sick or hurt or, I dunno, laying at the bottom of the staircase with a broken leg." He gestured towards the back of the house. "But Mikey thought, maybe… maybe I was overreacting. And when I saw you were fine, I thought maybe he was right."

"So Mikey thinks I'm that kind of guy?"

"Not now! Now he knows I was right. You were in trouble." Gerard finished triumphantly.

Frank wasn't sure he liked being a damsel in distress. But it was better than being the kind of jerk who slept with people and didn't call them back. Probably.

He started making a sign for the front door.

"Hey," he said. "I never asked you how your show went."

"Good," Gerard said. "But I'll tell you all about it later. When we're not in a haunted house, maybe." They smiled at each other, and Frank quickly finished his sign.

"We can go," he said.

"'Kay," Gerard answered.

Frank thought they were leaving so he took a step forward. Gerard hadn't moved, and Frank nearly ran into him. "Hey," Gerard whispered. His hands were somehow on Frank's wrists, just lightly resting, but Frank could feel the tingling up and down his arms. He looked up, and Gerard was right there.

He leaned up and found Gerard's mouth easily. It was like only realizing how thirsty you were after you started drinking water. In a moment they were kissing deeply, and Frank's hands were in Gerard's hair. Gerard's arms were around his waist, pulling Frank closer. They could have been in a haunted house or a deserted cave or the middle of St. Mark's Square; external considerations, for a long moment, held no value.

There was a loud, distinct knock above their heads.

They startled apart, although Frank thought Gerard was more startled than he was. Frank had almost been expecting something.

Gerard, breathing heavy, stared up at the ceiling. "Oops," he whispered. His lower lip was very shiny. Frank couldn't stop staring at it. Fuck the ghost.

"Did you guys hear that?" Mikey called, actual excitement making his voice a little higher than normal. Mikey swung into the office, hanging off the door. "That was knocking."

"Yeah," Frank said glumly. "We should probably get out before it tries to kill us."

Mikey and Gerard looked shamed after that, although Frank didn't hold their excitement against them. He was pretty sure he'd feel the same way, if It wasn't out to get him.

"Does it knock like that often?" Mikey wanted to know, as they went through the shop.

"Not really," Frank said. "It likes to move objects, use doors to make noise."

"But it is _noisy,_ you'd say?" Mikey pressed.

"I can't get it to shut up."

Mikey nodded, excited again. Excited for Mikey, anyway.

Every phone in the building rang.

Frank felt the hair on the back of his neck— and possibly the hair on his head— stand up. Mikey and Gerard were looking around, looking freaked out, but not nearly as much as they should be. Not nearly as much as Frank was. Because they didn't know what he knew.

Not one of those phones was plugged in.

There were lots of phones— mod phones from the 50s and 60s with big rotary dials, princess phones from the 30s to the 80s, even a wall phone from 1910. Their bells were all loud and pretty similar and they were sounding in sync. And not one of those phones should be making any noise at all.

Gerard was looking around— the phones had rung twice now— and he moved toward one on a nearby side table.

"Don't!" Frank shouted, lunging toward him. He grabbed Gerard's sleeve. "Let's go!"

The third ring. Gerard pulled free and picked up the handset. "Hello?"

The phone was an olive green rotary brick. For a terrifying moment, Frank imagined some _Matrix_ -like situation, when Gerard would vanish as soon as he answered.

Gerard frowned. The other phones had stopped ringing. Gerard hung up.

"What? What was it?" Frank asked tensely.

"Nothing," Gerard shrugged. "The line was dead."

"Of course it was dead," Frank snapped. "None of those phones are plugged in."

"None of them?" Gerard asked. "But—"

"I just have my cell phone out here. Now can we please _go?_ "

Gerard and Mikey looked paler now, now that the truth had sunk in. Gerard nodded, lips tightly pressed together.

They all hurried outside. Frank locked the door and stuck the sign on it. He didn't relax at all until they were off the porch and standing by their cars.

"Why don't you come over tonight?" Gerard asked. "For dinner and whatever. Planning for tomorrow."

Frank agreed— he was exhausted but he was hardly going to pass on that invitation.

 

"Can we talk about something else?" Frank sighed as they settled down with their food. "Just for a while? You said you'd tell me about your show."

It was a good choice. Gerard was good at doing funny impressions of the people he'd met, and it felt really good to laugh. Mikey would interrupt when he thought Gerard was being too modest.

It really was exactly what Frank needed— something fun to think about for awhile, a safe place to relax in. He was fascinated by Gerard's house, and got the full tour. The best part was the studio, of course, and Frank finally got a look at Gerard's work.

"There's not much in here now, of course," Gerard said. "Because of the show. But there's some unfinished stuff over here."

On a big canvas Frank recognize the grill he'd set aside for Gerard only a couple weeks ago. It was stuck to the canvas somehow. Behind it the canvas was painted in shades of a violent sunset, and there were dark shapes somewhere between trees and people.

"Wow," he whispered.

Gerard spoke from right behind him. "I'm trying to decide if I should paint the grill."

"What color would you paint it?"

"Black. Or I could leave it like this. Or… maybe white. I'm going to mess with it in Photoshop before I decide."

"It's really cool," Frank said sincerely. "Amazing. Maybe a little creepy for me right now, though."

"Oh yeah." Frank turned in time to see Gerard wince.

Frank nudged his foot against Gerard's. "It's cool. Not like it's going to give me nightmares, or anything."

"Do you have nightmares?" Gerard asked, voice muted. The studio was big and echoey, but Gerard knew how to speak in it without having his voice carry.

Frank shrugged. "I haven't been getting a ton of sleep," he admitted. Actually, his eyes were burning again, and his head was starting to feel thick and heavy.

"You could sleep here tonight," Gerard said, and immediately flushed. "I didn't mean… well… you're welcome to just, you know, _sleep_ here."

Frank smiled, first at the ground, then at Gerard. "Okay," he said. "Thanks."

They went back into the living room and found Mikey glued to his computer. Frank and Gerard sat next to each other on the couch, sneaking glances at each other out of the corners of their eyes.

Mikey started reading to them off the site he was on. Frank leaned his head on Gerard's shoulder, not even trying to pay attention. Gerard shifted his arm to wrap it around Frank's shoulders, pulling him in closer, and that was the last thing Frank knew until morning.

 

He woke up on the couch, a pillow under his head. Gerard had tucked him under a blanket, too. He could hear and smell coffee brewing in the kitchen. Frank actually felt pretty good, considering he'd slept on the couch and hadn't brushed his teeth or anything. He stayed huddled under the blanket, waiting for the coffee to finish.

He'd almost dozed off again when he heard a door down the hall open. Gerard eventually entered Frank's line of sight, doing the zombie shuffle for the kitchen. He was wearing full-on skeleton pajamas. Frank was sure he'd never met anyone so unintentionally charming in such a hilarious way.

He hid beneath his blanket, taking a moment to get over that shit, before following Gerard out to the kitchen. Gerard was clearly not totally present yet, so they exchanged the bare-minimum of morning civilities while they had their first sips of coffee. Mikey came in soon after, and they all stood around and blinked at each other for awhile.

"I can make eggs," Frank finally offered.

Frank cooked, to effusive praise, and then went home for a little while to shower and shave and change his clothes. Gerard and Mikey were sitting in Gerard's car in front of the antiques store when Frank rolled up. He was glad he wasn't there alone, even sitting outside.

The store looked perfectly normal, all the blinds closed and the doors and windows shut tightly and locked. The addition always made it look slightly lopsided. The once-white paint had gotten weathered and dingy, and the house seemed to be blending away into the overcast sky.

And yet. It no longer looked like the shop he'd looked forward to visiting as a child. He used to love it here, when all it meant was his grandma and hidden treasures. It had stopped being fun when it became his job, and now he felt uneasy just looking at the building. It no longer felt like his grandma's, and it had never really felt like his. And now there was a hostile invader, and Frank didn't even feel welcome, let alone comfortable.

Getting out of the car felt like walking into a wall of hot, wet air. Frank broke into a sweat after a few steps. The weather being so hot and warm and dark just added to the overall sense of wrongness.

Gerard opened his door as Frank reached the car. "We've got a bunch of stuff to bring in, if you're ready."

Frank resisted the urge to look over his shoulder at the house. "Let's do it."

The ghost seemed to have behaved itself overnight. Nothing was moved, as far as Frank could tell, and no mirrors had "Get Out" or "Redrum" written on them. Frank didn't find that hugely reassuring, though. It just had no motive to do anything when he wasn't in the store.

"I've got my ouija board," Mikey said. "But I don't know how useful it'll be."

"Why?" Gerard asked.

Mikey shuffled around a little bit before answering. "I don't think what you have is a traditional ghost. I mean, where did it come from, right? Sometimes ghosts show up when you're doing remodeling or construction, but you haven't done anything like that recently, right?"

Frank shook his head. "She knocked down the non-load-bearing walls in here before I was born, I'm pretty sure."

"Okay, so. I think— with all the object manipulation and noises and shit— you've got a poltergeist."

Frank frowned. "Like— so what does that mean?"

"I don't know if it'll respond to a ouija board. It's not a dead person, not really. It's more like psychokinetic energy. It probably doesn't really have a brain or anything."

"But isn't that usually with kids?" Gerard asked, frowning. "I thought that's what you told me, once. Usually it's kids."

"Yeah," Mikey said, "They're usually seen with kids or really young teenagers. That's what I can't figure out yet. A poltergeist forms when there's a strong burst of emotion. Which seems unlikely, since this is a store."

"Why, again?" Frank asked.

"I mean," Mikey waved his hands around vaguely, "no offense or anything, but it's an antiques store. How many huge fights happen in here?"

"None that I've ever seen," Frank admitted.

"Is it any emotion?" Gerard asked nervously.

"In theory," Mikey said. "Why? Do people get really excited over old hats or something?"

Gerard looked guilty and uncomfortable, tugging at his hair nervously and shooting a significant sideways look at Frank.

Frank frowned. A burst of emotion… any emotion… oh. _Oh._

Mikey looked back and forth between Frank and Gerard. "What?" he said. "Am I missing something?"

Frank sighed. _And that,_ he thought, _is why you don't have sex at work._

 

"Really?" Frank whispered to Gerard while they were watching Mikey set up a webcam in the kitchen.

Gerard shrugged. "Do you have a better idea?"

He didn't. That had definitely been the most action this place had seen in thirty years. At least he hoped so. Oh God, not things he ever wanted to think about, never ever.

"I think this'll stay," Mikey said, jumping down. As far as Frank could tell, Mikey was actually really excited. You just had to not pay any attention to his tone of voice or facial expression. "We should go upstairs," Mikey added.

Frank winced. He'd been dreading this part, although he knew it had to happen eventually. This was the first time he'd gone upstairs in four days, and there was still glass all over the floor of the upper hallway. Frank brought a broom and dustpan up the stairs, trying not to hold the broom like a weapon as he led the way upstairs.

"Frankie," Gerard murmured, surveying the damage.

"Hey," Frank said, his joking tone falling flat. "I hardly got hurt at all."

He quickly involved himself in sweeping up. "Just be careful," he said. "I couldn't get everything."

"Do you still have the original box of dishes?" Gerard asked. "With the oil? I want to show Mikey."

"It should be in the smallest bedroom," Frank said, waving them down the hall. He was concentrating on sweeping, but when he heard them open the door, he actually thought about the small bedroom, and got up to follow the Ways.

Frank stood just outside the doorway, watching. Gerard had no trouble finding the box, which Frank had left in the middle of the floor, open.

"Here it is," Gerard said, pushing the box over to where Mikey sat down. "Also, is it just me, or does this room feel creepy?"

"It's felt creepy for days, to me," Frank admitted. "Way before anything else happened, actually."

"Still no idea where these came from?" Gerard asked, nodding at the box of dishes.

"I have no idea where anything came from, really," Frank said. "As far as I know, my grandma didn't keep records of where she got things from."

"Don't people usually want to know that?" Gerard asked. "Isn't that part of an antique's value?"

Frank shrugged. "She probably had it all in her head."

"Guys?" Mikey said. "I don't see anything weird in this box."

"What do you mean?" Frank finally squeezed into the room. "There's a large platter that always has some on the rim."

"This?" Mikey pulled out the large platter and handed it to Frank. Frank ran his hand all over the rim, but it came up clean.

"I don't know what to tell you," Frank sighed, handing the platter to Gerard.

"You did wash it off," Gerard said, squinting at the platter's rim.

They emptied the box; all of the plates were clean and there was no sign of the oil or a stain in the box or on any of the packing materials. "I am seriously fucking confused," Frank admitted.

"What about the computer?" Gerard asked. "That was full of the oil. Is that still around?"

It was, in fact. Frank had vaguely known that computers should be recycled instead of thrown away, but hadn't been able to locate any place to do it, so he'd shoved it into one of the other upstairs rooms. They all trooped across the hall to see it. Frank couldn't help feeling a tiny bit more relaxed once they were out of the smallest bedroom.

Gerard told Mikey about Ray trying to fix it while Frank pulled it out. "I like Ray," was all Mikey said before diving into the CPU's innards.

Frank and Gerard idly poked in boxes. Frank found a box of something that used to be some kind of paper and was now a mostly-solid mass of dark goop, probably from the oil. Frank set it outside the room to throw away when they went back downstairs.

"I am so over looking for this shit," Frank whispered. Gerard smiled sympathetically.

"It used to be all over," he said. "And now we can't find it. Where did all the oil in the library go?"

"I don't know, but when our little _friend_ threw all the books off the shelves, they were all clean."

"Guys?" Mikey said. "I think it's still in here, but dried or hardened or something."

"Gross," Frank said automatically, leaning over to look. Mikey got a bit of cardboard and scraped at the side of the CPU. Some dark flakes fluttered off.

"That's new," Gerard said. "But we have no fucking clue what it _means._ "

"We should check the bathroom downstairs," Frank said. "See if it's still there."

So they all trooped back downstairs, and although it probably wasn't really any safer, Frank felt better. In the downstairs bathroom, all that remained of the oil was a dark stain where the wall met the floor.

"I guess I stopped paying attention to the oil when the big haunting stuff started," Frank shrugged. "I don't know what happened."

"They've got to be connected, though, right?" Gerard asked. "I mean, two weird things suddenly happening seems like too much of a coincidence."

Mikey just shrugged. After a moment, Gerard asked him where he wanted to put the other camera.

Back upstairs, Frank dragged a side table into the hallway so Mikey could put a camera on it, pointing towards the smallest bedroom. They left the door wide open, and went back downstairs.

Mikey had to do something with the computer, so Frank threw away the box of ruined paper and then just sort of stood around with Gerard while Mikey did his thing. He didn't know if they should talk, or if he wanted to talk, or what. He'd turned on the fans when they'd first come into the house, but it was still stifling, and Frank felt sleepy and lazy. Gerard helped him open all the windows in the main room, but with the lack of a breeze anywhere in greater Jersey, that didn't actually help.

"Okay," Mikey said, detaching himself from the computer with obvious reluctance. "We might as well try a seance. Since we're here with the ouija board and all."

"In the middle of the day?" Gerard asked.

"Do you wanna be here all night?" Mikey asked. Gerard wrinkled his nose but didn't bother answering.

Mikey set up his board, which wasn't the kind you could buy in Toys-R-Us. It was thick and heavy, hand-carved wood, and according to Gerard it came from New Orleans. Mikey asked to borrow a glass, so Frank chose a clear lowball glass with bubbles all over the side— they were pretty annoying to hold, actually— and Mikey upended it in the middle of the board.

"One finger?" Gerard asked. "Or all our fingertips?"

"There's only three of us," Mikey said, "so let's try fingertips from one hand."

Frank turned off the lights— he wasn't sure if darkness was necessary, but it was cooler— and they gathered around the board, sitting on the floor in the largest bit of floor space they could find. It was still a tight squeeze, and the haphazardly placed shelves seemed to loom above them in a way Frank had never noticed before.

They all put the fingertips of their left hands on the glass. Mikey began doing his spirit-calling thing. He addressed the entity in the house, asking it to give them a sign of its presence. It was silent, apart from the usual store noises. Frank was trying to decide if the quiet was that heavy, expectant pause he'd felt a few times in here lately, but he was too paranoid to rely on his senses that way.

"We know you're here," Mikey said. "Why don't you come talk to us?"

The glass, frustratingly, continued to stay perfectly still. Nothing else in the building moved, either. Mikey moved on to coaxing, cajoling, and then threatening and name-calling. It was kind of funny, but Frank's legs were getting numb.

"Maybe it just doesn't want to talk to us," Gerard ventured.

"You try, Frank," Mikey said.

"Uh, okay." Frank pushed back his hair, trying to think of something to say. His raised his voice a little. "Hey… you. This is Frank. We've talked before, kind of. So, you're kind of a douchebag." Mikey snorted. "This is your chance to say something. Tell me what you've been trying to say all this time. I know you're listening. You're always listening, aren't you?"

He thought he felt… something. It felt cooler in the room now, although Frank still didn't feel any kind of breeze. He wasn't sure if the glass was starting to move, or it was just his pulse pounding in his fingertips.

"Why are you here?" he asked, his voice quiet again. There was no need to shout now. "What do you want?"

The glass slipped suddenly, out from under his fingers before he realized it was moving, and it was like dropping something without moving your hand, a sort of "Wait… what?" feeling.

The glass shot out from under all their fingers and threw itself across the room, shattering on the wall.

They all jumped, of course, twice. "The fuck?" Gerard gasped.

"I don't think it wants to talk to us," Mikey said, pushing his glasses up and then down again nervously.

Frank stood up, and this time he shouted. "Fuck you, stupid motherfucker! I told you not to break any more of my shit!" He hoped no one noticed how much he was trembling. It was impossible to breath in here; he kept sucking in air but there was too much water and not enough pure oxygen to fill his lungs with.

It was _on,_ as far as Frank was concerned. Not that he actually cared about the glass, but he was pissed that this thing, poltergeist or whatever it was, was throwing shit around instead of talking to them.

Mikey and Gerard got to their feet, too.

"If you don't want to talk," Frank said, "then get the fuck out." It was probably about as useful as reasoning with a two year old, but Frank felt better for saying it.

"Maybe it was trying too hard," Mikey suggested.

"Like it doesn't know its own strength?" Gerard sounded as skeptical as Frank felt. Maybe they were both thinking about the kitchen table.

"We could try one more time," Mikey suggested. "With the board."

"Fine," Frank said, and grabbed another glass, just like the first one. He put it on the ouija board and they all sat down.

"Try again," Mikey encouraged it.

They sat for fifteen minutes, all of them asking various questions, but the glass never moved. Frank felt sweaty and his arm was getting tired. Gerard was sitting with his head cocked to one side, like he was thinking hard about something.

"Uh," Gerard said at last, "Frank, you remember yesterday, when that knock happened?"

Frank definitely remembered making out in the office. "Yes?"

Gerard shot a glance at Mikey. "What the entity needs… energy, or something, more energy, to manifest?"

"You mean… you think it got energy from _us?_ " Frank felt creeped out just thinking about it. And not in the "fun" spooky ghost way, but in the someone's-been-through-my-underwear-drawer way.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Mikey asked. "What were you doing that the poltergeist would get energy… oh." He looked at them in turn over the tops of his lenses. "I am not amused," he said.

Frank couldn't help giggling a little. "It might provoke it, if nothing else."

Mikey sighed an epic, teenager-worthy, my-life-is-so-hard sigh. "I'm not watching."

"Ew, no," Gerard said.

Mikey ostentatiously turned his back. Gerard turned towards Frank and scooted closer. It was like a game of spin the bottle or something else painfully awkward. Frank and Gerard stared at each other for a few seconds. Frank decided he'd better do something before it got any worse, and leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Gerard's.

It managed to be even more awkward than their first kiss; their noses seemed much more prominent somehow, but Frank kept his eyes shut and his focus on Gerard's mouth. In a little bit Frank relaxed and got into it, and he could feel Gerard do the same. Gerard's hand came up and touched Frank's cheek, ear, hair. Frank leaned closer, his hands rubbing Gerard's arms and then sliding across the front of his shirt before he grabbed the material to try and get Gerard closer.

Gerard's tongue was in his mouth now so Frank sucked on it, hard, and Gerard choked off a tiny noise Frank could only just hear. Frank forgot about the ghost, forgot about Mikey, just let his brain shut off and went by feel. And Gerard felt good.

"Guys," Mikey shouted, or what passed for shouting with Mikey, "I don't think it's working."

Gerard pulled away and for a moment Frank tried to follow. Then he opened his eyes and sat back and tried to discreetly wipe his mouth. Gerard looked flushed and rumpled and delicious.

Mikey was still sitting with his back to them, shoulders hunched up.

"Sorry, Mikey," Gerard said, a giggle leaking in around the edges of the words.

"Stupid uncooperative ghost," Frank said, although he wasn't really too upset. Or even a little upset.

"I think we might as well go," Mikey said, scooting around to face them cautiously, like they might trick him and start making out again.

"Yeah, let's get out of here," Frank sighed. He could feel a large drop of sweat running down his chest. He probably had unattractive sweat stains everywhere. He stood up, knees popping, and pulled damp jeans away from his legs in an effort to both cool himself off and look a bit more presentable.

Gerard and Mikey were doing the same, standing up and straightening out sweaty clothes. Mikey bent over to pick up the ouija board, and while Mikey was bent over, he fell backwards— except he didn't fall, he was pushed, and instead of falling down he flew back, smashing into the wall behind him. He crashed into the wall back-first, and all the bits of other peoples' lives that sat on the nearby shelves rattled and some of them tumbled off. Mikey had hit the wall well above floor level; he slumped on the floor now, propped up by the wall, surrounded by debris, not moving.

It took Frank a few seconds to make sense of what happened. Gerard was already moving by the time Frank unfroze.

"Mikey!" Gerard was shouting, already dropping to the floor next to his brother. Frank held his breath, forgetting to make his feet move, watching Mikey intently.

When Mikey groaned and flailed his arms a little, Frank sighed with relief. Gerard grabbed Mikey's head and hugged it, which made Mikey flail harder. Frank walked another few steps and crouched down next to them.

"Are you okay, Mikey?" It had happened so fast, Frank was only now starting to feel shaken.

Mikey managed to push Gerard off of him enough to answer. "I think so? Nothing feels broken."

"Jesus Fucking Christ," Frank muttered. He checked the back of Mikey's head. "I don't think you're bleeding."

Gerard was checking Mikey over for himself. Mikey swatted at his hands, but not very hard.

"We need to get out of here," Gerard announced. "Right the fuck now."

No one argued. They helped Mikey up— he seemed a little shaky, or dizzy, once he was on his feet. Gerard kept a tight hold of him. Frank grabbed what they'd brought, including the ouija board, and they hustled to the front door.

Frank had a cripplingly strong cramp of anxiety as they faced the front door. It was mad at them, obviously, and he was afraid It was going to try the locked door trick again.

But throwing Mikey around must have worn It out. Gerard opened the door easily. Frank barely had time for a sigh of relief before he ran outside. He shouldn't leave the fans or lights on, but he really didn't want to go back inside.

He hesitated, the door just open enough to see down the hall, before pulling it shut and turning the key so firmly he thought it might break. Frank tested the door, pulling on it almost compulsively, before he let go and joined the Ways at the bottom of the stairs.

"I'm so sorry," he said to Mikey.

Mikey shrugged, then winced. "Not your fault."

"You should go to the hospital," Gerard said, peering at Mikey.

"No I fucking shouldn't," Mikey said. "I'm fine. What would we tell them, anyway?"

Frank imagined trying to explain this to an admitting nurse, and then trying to explain to a consult from Psych.

"Let's get in some fucking air conditioning," Frank said, "and we can discuss whatever."

They got in their cars and Frank followed them back to Gerard's house. He felt guilty, no matter what Mikey said and no matter how irrational it was. Mikey had gotten hurt in _his_ store, by _his_ ghost.

By the time Frank walked into Gerard's living room, Mikey was already stretched out on his stomach on the couch, and Gerard was in the kitchen, pulling bags of frozen food out of the freezer.

"How you doing?" Frank asked.

"It's starting to hurt," Mikey admitted. "Could you bring me that computer?"

Frank carried a laptop across the room and set it up at Mikey's fingertips. As far as Frank could see, Mikey was now surfing the net upside-down.

Gerard carried in the bags of frozen food and began laying them on Mikey's back, asking if it hurt as he laid each one down. Mikey ignored him, either because he was being stoic or because he was actually focused on whatever he was doing online.

Gerard hadn't spoken to Frank since Mikey had been hurt, and Frank's awareness of that was a painful clench in his chest and stomach.

Once Mikey looked like he was wearing the frozen food section, Gerard went back in the kitchen, muttering something about coffee. Frank stood uselessly in the living room for a moment, and then forced himself to follow Gerard into the kitchen. How things change.

"Hey," Frank said, and then stopped because he hadn't actually thought of anything to say. His usual loquaciousness failed, and he was reminded of how he used to be around Gerard, all tongue-tied and clumsy. He shoved his hands in his pockets to have something to do.

"Hey," Gerard answered, voice muted. "Coffee?"

"Yeah. Yes, please."

Gerard was very busy with the coffee-maker.

Frank stared at the floor, feeling things get more awkward by the second.

"I'm really sorry," he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth like a waterfall. "I thought It would go after me, I didn't think It would go for Mikey, or I—"

Gerard turned around, eyes wide. "It wouldn't have been any better if it had gone after you!"

Frank felt better, and then immediately felt guilty for feeling better when Gerard was clearly still freaked out. He stood next to Gerard and put a hand on his shoulder. "If you guys don't want anything else to do with this, I completely—"

Gerard slipped his fingers under the edge of Frank's t-shirt, onto his stomach— his freezer-cold fingers. Frank yelped and squirmed away. Gerard, a nearly evil grin on his face, danced around the kitchen, out of Frank's reach.

Frank chased him into the living room, where Mikey distracted him by asking "Want to see the shop?"

"Really?" Frank sat on the floor next to the laptop. Gerard wedged himself in behind Frank. Mikey angled the laptop toward them.

Frank saw two black and white feeds. Because they'd left the lights on, they could see the rooms clearly. As far as Frank could tell, the house was as they'd left it.

"It's too bad we don't have audio," Mikey said. "And we should have set up a camera in the main room, too."

Frank shrugged. "What are the chances of catching anything? It never seems to do anything unless I'm there."

He felt Gerard's fingers brush his hip and quickly reached back to stop him.

Gerard huffed a laugh in his ear. "They're warm again," he promised. Frank found Gerard's fingers with his own. They weren't warm, exactly, but they weren't freezer-interior, either. Frank wrapped his hand around Gerard's fingers to warm them.

"Something on my lower back is melting," Mikey said.

Gerard flexed his fingers in a little squeeze, then carefully withdrew his hand. He got up to change out the bag of frozen whatever.

Frank kept his eyes on the feeds. It was probably pointless, but it was hard to look away. On the upper hallway feed, the door to the smallest bedroom closed. It swung shut smoothly and easily. Frank sucked in a breath and looked at Mikey, to make sure he was seeing this too. Mikey's eyes were wide behind the lenses of his glasses. Frank looked back at the feed and saw all the doors slam themselves shut, one after the other, clockwise from the smallest bedroom.

"Fuck me," Mikey whispered.

"Gerard!" Frank shouted, keeping his eyes on the screen. "You should come see this."

"What?" Gerard ran in from the kitchen, a bag of frozen corn in hand.

Mikey told him what they'd seen as Gerard put the bag on his brother's back. Gerard crouched down behind Frank again, leaning his chin on Frank's shoulder.

They watched for what seemed like a very long time. Eventually, the smallest bedroom door swung open again, gently, as it had shut.

"It's definitely centered on that room, isn't it?" Gerard murmured. Frank leaned back into him, a little bit. "I wonder—"

"What?" Frank whispered, matching the softness of Gerard's tone automatically.

"Those dishes. The oil came with them, didn't it? Nothing happened at all until you opened that box."

"Little known fact," Frank said, "my middle name is Pandora." Gerard smiled; Frank could feel it against his cheek.

"Let me see," Mikey flapped his hand at the computer, which had inched just beyond his reach with all the turning around. "I want to check something. The feed'll record."

"So we can rewatch," Frank said. "Wow. Cool."

"So we can watch it in fast forward, duh," Gerard said.

He reached over Frank to push the laptop to Mikey and angle the screen for him.

"Coffee's ready," he announced, still leaning all over Frank. "Who wants some?"

"Me," Mikey said, without looking away from the screen. "And then please, get a room."

Frank and Gerard both laughed, maybe a little awkwardly, and went into the kitchen. Gerard actually took Mikey coffee before having a sip of his own. Frank supposed that must be the upside of being injured.

Frank and Gerard drank their coffee in the kitchen in silence. Frank's thoughts wouldn't settle. He'd be replaying the opening doors, or thinking about Mikey getting thrown into the wall, and then he wondered if he'd get robbed after leaving the store windows open, and then he was worried Gerard really was mad at him, which obviously led to thinking about kissing Gerard, and then back to the ghost.

"On the bright side," Gerard said, startling Frank a bit, "we could probably put together a pretty good scary movie."

" _Blair Witch_ style," Frank nodded. "Right on."

"Dub in our voices… throw in some viral marketing… we'll have a hit. No one will know if it's real or not," Gerard smiled wryly.

Frank had to clear his throat. "Awesome. Since I may never be able to reopen, I'll need the money."

Gerard looked anxious, and also like he was trying to think of something to say. Frank didn't want him to say anything about that. "I think Mikey will be okay," was the first thing that came up.

Gerard immediately switched topics; Frank could see it in his face. "Yeah," he nodded. "He's gonna hurt like hell tomorrow, though."

Frank agreed and they fell silent again. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence any more than the first one had been. There were just a lot of problems to think about, and not much in the way of solutions.

"Frank?" Mikey called.

Gerard followed Frank back into the living room. "What is it, Mikey?"

"How far away would your grandmother get stuff from?"

"I dunno," Frank said. "I don't think she ever flew stuff in, but I guess some of it could have been shipped from pretty far away. Why?"

"That design on the plates looked weird," Mikey said. "I thought we could try and track down where they came from."

"You know," Gerard said, "it looked like a crest."

"Like… heraldry?" Frank asked uncertainly.

Gerard nodded. "But I don't think it's like, real heraldry. A lot of rich American families made up their own family crests to put on all their stuff. I think it's something like that. The figures looked Art Nouveau."

"Okay," Mikey said, while Frank was admiring Gerard's brain. "There must be a database online, right?"

"Probably," Gerard said. "But I think now it's time for dinner, and then I think you should go to bed."

Mikey gave his brother what passed for a glare from Mikey.

"Don't try and tell me it doesn't hurt." They continued to bicker, Gerard loudly, Mikey mostly silently. Frank listened to them with a smile, and watched the feed from his store.

 

After dinner Gerard did indeed make Mikey go to bed, but he allowed him to take his laptop with him. "He'll be out like a light," Gerard confidently predicted when he rejoined Frank in the living room after helping Mikey get ready for bed. "Which is good, because we're running out of frozen food." He sat next to Frank on the couch and put his feet up with a sigh.

"I could go get some more," Frank offered.

"Nah," Gerard said. "They'll all refreeze overnight. It'll be fine."

Then it _was_ an awkward silence. Gerard fidgeted like he was working up to something. Frank kept quiet and let him work it out. Frank's brain, which hated him and wanted him to be miserable, starting playing "I Think We're Alone Now" on loop.

"Maybe I should—" Frank started.

"You could—" Gerard said at the same time.

They laughed. "You go first," Frank said.

For a moment, it looked like Gerard was going to try to get out of it, but then he straightened up a little and said "You could stay here again tonight."

Frank, who had been about to offer to go home, smiled. "If it's not too much trouble, then, yeah. That would be cool."

Gerard smiled. "I— I think it's better. If you stay here."

"Okay," Frank said. He felt like he was waiting for more. He wasn't wrong.

"You don't have to sleep on the couch," Gerard said, so low Frank had trouble hearing it. "I could sleep on the couch," he added, a bit louder.

"No way," Frank said quickly. "I'm not kicking you out of your bed, man."

"So…" Gerard said.

"So…" Frank echoed. Gerard was looking at him intently, searching his face for something. Frank was just going to have to invite himself. "I don't actually mind the couch, but we could share the bed," Frank said.

"Because we're mature, responsible adults?" Gerard asked. He seemed worried.

"…No?" Frank said.

Gerard unexpectedly beamed, to Frank's intense relief. "Good," he said like he meant it, and grabbed Frank's hand. He bounced to his feet and pulled Frank after him.

Frank covered his mouth with his free hand, trying not to laugh loudly and wake Mikey as Gerard pulled him down the hallway.

They'd only done this once but Frank had missed it all the same. And this time was better— they were in a real bed, and they were comfortable, and they had time. Frank fell asleep to Gerard tracing his tattoos with a light, wandering finger, and if there was a dopey smile on his face, well, at least Gerard had one too.

 

Frank resisted waking all the way up for a long time. He was happy and warm and sleepy and dimly felt that coming any more awake might damage that. He spent what seemed like a long time drifting in and out of dreams, and was only pushed fully awake when his pillow shifted and rolled away.

Frank opened his eyes to an unfamiliar room, lit with sharp shafts of sunlight leaking through the heavy curtains. The next thing he noticed was Gerard in the bed next to him, who'd just rolled over and jostled Frank into the day.

So far, Frank was still happy, warm, and sleepy. In fact, he was maybe a little bit happier then he had been. Gerard was making waking up noises and stretching, and as Frank watched him, all the rest of it came flooding back. Frank was much less happy and sleepy; he even felt a slight chill.

He rolled over, mashing his face into the pillow, and tried to ignore it. Maybe Gerard wouldn't make him get up. A curl of cool air snuck up against Frank's side as Gerard sat up. He did actually try to get up without disturbing Frank, which inevitably led to early-morning, trying-to-be-quiet clumsiness. Frank hid a smile in the pillow when Gerard cursed under his breath after falling into the wall trying to get his pants on.

But it was less fun to hide in bed after Gerard left. Frank groaned, rolled out of bed, and pulled his clothes back on. By the time Frank reached the kitchen, Gerard was already pouring out the coffee. Frank came up behind Gerard and kissed his shoulder through his shirt. Gerard leaned back and hummed, maybe a greeting, and gave Frank one of the mugs.

Frank followed when Gerard took Mikey his coffee. Mikey was still asleep, and growled at Gerard when he set the mug down on the nightstand. Gerard didn't pay any attention. "How you doing, Mikey?" Gerard must have had enough coffee to talk now.

"Tired. Sore." Mikey put out a hand and flailed it around until Gerard guided it to the mug. Mikey pushed himself up enough to get the mug to his mouth. He took a sip, then groaned and lay back down. "Everything hurts," he complained.

"Let's see." Gerard put his own coffee down and pushed Mikey's shirt up. Frank hissed in sympathy when he saw Mikey's back, which was one giant bruise.

"Oh man," Frank said. "Can we get you anything?"

"Fucking vicodin or something," Mikey said.

Gerard frowned. "I don't know, I'll go see what I have."

Frank finished his coffee— Gerard did make good coffee— and watched Mikey chug the rest of Gerard's coffee before picking up his own.

"I don't have any vicodin," Gerard said. "But I have codeine. Ta da!" He rattled the pill bottle at Mikey with a flourish.

"Someone's in a good mood," Mikey grumbled. He glared at Gerard, and then at Frank, presumably because Gerard's good mood was Frank's fault. Frank turned away so Mikey wouldn't have to see his grin.

"Take your pills," Gerard said serenely. With a great lack of stoicism by all parties, Mikey managed to turn around and carefully sat back against the pillows.

"I'll make breakfast," Frank said.

"Wait," Mikey said. He pulled over the computer, which was still on the bed next to him. "I found something last night. I want to show you."

He opened the laptop and turned it around so Frank and Gerard could see. "This is the crest from the plates, right?"

"Yeah," Frank said, impressed. "Good job, Mikey!"

"Here," Mikey shoved the laptop at them. "Go read it. I'm going to nap until you've brought me my breakfast."

Frank took the laptop and Gerard ruffled Mikey's hair, grinning when Mikey couldn't squirm away.

Frank made pancakes while Gerard read the web page to him. The crest was created by the Hoffmans in 1923 to go with their Hudson River Valley estate. The Hoffman family head offed himself after the 1929 crash, but the family managed to hang onto their place through the Depression. They rebounded big time with war profiteering.

"Nice," Frank commented.

"Well," Gerard continued, "One of the kids, a six year old boy, died in 1967, shortly before the place burned down." Frank winced.

"Damn, that sucks."

"So that happened. Apparently the cause of the fire is mysterious."

"Ah ha," Frank said. "I think we're on to something."

"There's not much left of the family. But there's some contact information here, let's see… Jim Caulkree? I guess he was the caretaker, or groundskeeper, or something."

"So… I guess we should call him, or something," Frank said. "And ask him about his creepy box of dishes."

Mikey was smug when they went back in and gave him his breakfast. "I do good work, right?"

"That was some hardcore awesome, Mikeyway," Gerard said. "Although you were supposed to be sleeping."

"You were supposed to be sleeping, too," Mikey said. Gerard blushed.

"How the hell did you find all that?" Frank asked.

"Google-fu. These are pretty good pancakes."

They all ended up back around Gerard's kitchen table, staring at the phone. "No one wants to call, is that it?" Frank asked.

Mikey sighed and picked up the phone. "You guys are such losers," he said. "I don't understand how you met."

Gerard kicked Frank under the table and smiled.

Mikey dialed and was quiet while the phone rang. Frank felt jittery. He didn't know what they were going to find out, but hopefully it would be _something._ Knowing anything was better than what they had now.

But the phone just rang and finally Mikey gave up. "Sorry," he said. "We'll have to try again later."

"Should we look at the feed from the store?" Gerard asked after a moment.

So they put that on fast forward and tried to keep their eyes from glazing over. The door thing looked funny in fast forward; that was all that happened for a long time. At some point towards morning, however, all the chairs were pushed back from the table in the kitchen. They slid across the floor until they hit the counter or wall. They stayed there for about 15 minutes, then slid back into place.

"Is it just _bored?_ " Gerard wondered, his head cocked to the side as if changing the view would help the images makes sense.

Frank shrugged. He didn't really care why It did things. He was aggravated enough about the things It did.

They watched the live feeds when they were done, but things seemed quiet. Of course, for all they could see, It could be completely trashing the rest of the store. Frank was twitchy and unsatisfied with just sitting around watching.

"I dunno," he said, when he couldn't take it anymore. "Maybe I should go back to the store."

Both Ways looked at him with wide eyes. "Are you crazy?" Gerard said. "It's dangerous."

"I have to go back sometime," Frank pointed out. "Who knows what It's doing to the rest of the store. And… I don't know, I feel like It's _winning_ since It's chased me out."

"So… what?" Gerard demanded. "You want to go back and _fight it,_ or something?"

Frank threw up his hands and shrugged. "I'm sorry, but I've got to do something. It responds to me, I know that. Maybe if I go back there alone…"

Gerard rubbed his eyes. "Like _fuck_ you're going alone," he said.


	3. Part 3

"Thanks," Frank said quietly, when they were sitting in the car in front of the shop. "For coming with me."

Gerard shrugged. "It's not exactly safe for anyone to be in there alone."

There had been kind of a lot of shouting by everyone, but in the end they'd agreed that Mikey had to stay home. He could watch the feeds and try calling that caretaker guy back. Gerard came with Frank, to make sure Frank didn't die.

The windows were open and half the lights were on, and it had been years since Frank had seen the store look like that from the outside. "Let's just get this over with," he said.

They walked up, and Frank unlocked the front door. "We're here," he muttered, giving the door a push and letting it swing open. It was one thing to talk big about charging in when they were sitting in Gerard's kitchen; a whole other thing to actually go back in an evil haunted house.

And how did Frank Iero, Reluctant Antique Dealer, become the sort of person who dealt with murderous poltergeists?

Gerard put his hands on Frank's shoulders and squeezed. All right then, time to cowboy up. He stepped inside, Gerard right at his back. The fans were whirring away, and the clock ticking, and that was it.

This time, Frank had the distinct sense that shit _had_ been moved. He couldn't place what had happened, but something was different. Frank looked around, but he was starting to think it was just his mind playing tricks on him.

"Frank?" Gerard called softly. "Look at this." Gerard was crouched next to one of the old bookcases that were lined up for shelving and ran the length of the former living room.

"What is it?" Frank kept his voice low, too. No reason to disturb anything.

"These marks on the floor— look."

It took Frank a moment to realize Gerard wasn't looking at something on the floor, but the floor itself. A darker area where the sun hadn't bleached the wood and dust hadn't accumulated. Because something big and solid had been resting on it for a long time. Something big and solid like the shelving unit. He shook his head slowly, letting his gaze wander to the next mark… and the next… and the next. Frank went into the next aisle and found them there, too.

Every single piece of furniture in the store had been shifted slightly out of place.

"Wow," Frank whispered. Gerard slipped his hand around Frank's and squeezed. Frank squeezed back. "I don't know what to say."

"I guess It really was bored," Gerard said.

They stood for a few moments while Frank struggled to pull himself together. "Okay," he said. "Let's just… check the addition." He didn't let go of Gerard, though, as they walked through the addition storeroom and looked in the office. All the furniture was shifted, again, but again nothing had fallen off the shelves. Frank's desk had been moved enough that he couldn't get around it in the cramped space.

"I think It hates me, especially," Frank whispered.

"It's kind of a vindictive bitch," Gerard agreed.

They still whispered back and forth and walked quietly, possibly in a silent mutual effort to keep their presence at a minimum. Frank led the way to the kitchen. He hadn't been properly inside since the table flew at him, he had to push himself now to go inside.

They went in, and turned around to wave at the camera. Frank didn't completely turn his back on the table, though.

Gerard's phone rang. It was so loud in the carefully maintained silence that both Gerard and Frank totally lost contact with the earth, they jumped so high.

"Fucking Mikey," Gerard gasped, pulling out his phone. He put it on speaker. "Mikeyway. You just scared the shit out of us."

"I saw you," Mikey said. "What's going on?" They filled him in quickly, but Mikey had news of his own.

"I spoke to Jim Caulkree," Mikey said, speaking so fast the words tripped over each other. "It took some convincing, but I explained about the poltergeist."

"He thought you were crazy?" Frank guessed.

" _No,_ " Mikey said, his voice getting squeaky. "He thought I knew about the Hoffman haunting and was trying to get more information about it."

"Wait— what?" Gerard said.

Frank pictured Mikey flapping his hands in excitement. "The Hoffman haunting— it started in the early '60s, he wasn't clear on the cause— and I _tried_ to get it out of him, okay— but it's the exact same stuff. Black oil everywhere, poltergeist activity of increasing violence. Jim blamed it for the death of the little boy. Get this— said it threw the boy across the room. Broke his neck."

Frank and Gerard exchanged a wide-eyed look over the phone. Frank felt sick, and Gerard swore softly.

"I know right?" Mikey said grimly. "Jim was pretty upset talking about it, and he wasn't really clear on the next part. But he said the oil spread everywhere, every room, no cause, no idea how it moved. But it is ectoplasm, or like ectoplasm. It's connected to the ghost somehow. And then the oil disappeared, and the ghost got violent. Manifested big-time. But then he also said the oil filled up the house— that it was in the walls? I don't know, what do you guys think?"

Frank was freaking the fuck out, that's what he thought. But. "In the walls?"

"That's what the man said. I think."

"Mikey—"

"He was really upset!"

"Okay," Frank said. "So, okay. There's an easy way to test that." He walked over to a kitchen drawer and pulled out a big, heavy claw hammer.

"Frank," Gerard said, but Frank had to ignore him. He heard Mikey saying something over the phone, but no one answered him.

Frank walked over to a clear space of wall. Every bit of frustration he'd ever felt in this store, the resentment he had about it, all the fear and anxiety over the ghost— he put it all into his swing. The hammer crunched into the wall and the impact jarred up his arm, but _damn,_ did that feel good. Frank didn't hesitate to do it again, then used the claw to pull some of the wall board away.

The walls were filled with oil.

"O holy fuck," Gerard whispered, right behind him. Mikey's voice, fuzzy on the loudspeaker, was still begging for an update.

"The walls are full of oil, Mikey," Frank said, sounding so calm he surprised himself. "And not the kind that's going to make us all rich."

The doors upstairs started slamming then, not one after the other like they had on the tape, but at random, sending up a constant banging. A response to Frank's banging, or to his discovery?

The oil was oozing a bit down the wall, dripping out of the hole. Kind of like blood, but blood from a very small wound. Scratching too much at a mosquito bite, maybe.

Upstairs suddenly went silent, but Frank didn't think it was a good sign.

"Maybe you should leave." Even over the speaker, Mikey sounded worried.

"Maybe he's right," Gerard said quietly. "What else can we do?"

Frank was still staring at the oil, or ectoplasm, or whatever in the wall. How was he ever going to get it out of the walls? Was it in _all_ the walls?

He ran out of the kitchen, Gerard following along, both he and Mikey shouting at Frank. Frank went for the paneling in what used to be the dining room. The oil started oozing out of the crack right away.

"Come on," he called to Gerard, and headed for the addition. He smacked a hole in the wall between the addition and the main room. It was a thick wall, because it had once been the outside wall of the house, so it took a few more hits. It was full of oil, the whole thing.

"We need to check upstairs," Frank realized. Gerard made an unhappy noise.

"What's the point? If the walls are all full of ectoplasm, what can we do about it?"

Okay, he had a point but… but Frank needed to go upstairs anyway. All the horror movies told him what to do next.

"The box of dishes," Frank said, feeling calmer, now that the idea had occurred to him. "It's how this thing got here, right?" Gerard and Mikey both agreed. "So we need to destroy that, right?"

Gerard worried at his lip, thinking it over. "Like burning a body, or salting the earth, right? Okay. Okay, I guess— yes."

Mikey was saying something Frank couldn't make out. Gerard made a frustrated noise and took Mikey off speaker.

"You'll be able to see us," he reminded Mikey after Mikey had had his say. "On the upstairs camera." To Frank, he added "Let's go."

They went back in the main room and Frank picked up the poker he'd carried around before and gave it to Gerard. There was a noise in the kitchen, and then another, and another. It must be the cupboards doors. Something in the kitchen shattered.

"Oh, whatever," Frank said, and charged up the stairs, Gerard right behind him, poker in one hand and phone in the other. It would have actually been hilarious, if Frank had been in the mood to find anything funny.

They reached the landing and the whole house jolted. Frank lurched into Gerard, knocking him into the wall. Gerard dropped the phone, grabbing onto Frank instead.

"Ow! Motherfucker!"

"Don't think that's going to stop us!" Frank shouted.

Gerard moaned. "Frank, I don't think that's really a—"

"Come on," Frank said. He was on a mission.

Gerard scrambled for his phone and explained what had happened to Mikey in choppy, breathless sentences.

They reached the upper floor. Everything in the house was very still.

"Okay, Mikey," Gerard said quietly, looking at the webcam. "You can see us. I'll call you back when we're done, okay?" He thumbed the phone off and tucked it in a pocket. Frank smiled for the camera and waved his hammer.

If the poltergeist had known what they would be doing— if it was really paying attention to their conversations— then it would have shut and locked the smallest bedroom door. But the door stayed open, and Frank and Gerard had no problem getting in the room. The box sat where they had left it the day before, wrappings scattered around and plates stacked haphazardly.

Frank grinned at Gerard. His grin was probably toward the "crazy and maniacal" end of the scale, but to his credit Gerard didn't flinch. He looked grimly determined, and got a good two-handed grip on the poker.

"Ready?"

"Beyond ready," Frank answered.

He smashed the hammer into the middle of the plates, which cracked— probably all the way down— but didn't shatter. At least, not until Gerard slammed his poker onto the stack. Gerard grinned at Frank and shook the hair out of his eyes.

They attacked the plates at will. Frank had to be a bit careful, because he had to get in a lot closer with his hammer then Gerard did with his poker. Frank kicked at the box until it ripped; he then kicked at the smashed plates, scattering them around. He wailed on them with his hammer, and jumped up and down on the fragments to grind them into dust.

When there wasn't anything left bigger than a quarter, they stood back and surveyed the wreckage.

"That was awesome," Gerard said. "And I kind of want a cigarette now."

Frank grinned. "Me too."

"Should we burn them?" Gerard asking, poking at the fragments with the toe of his boot.

"That could be fun," Frank agreed. "I'll get the broom and dustpan, I guess."

They ran down the stairs, laughing, but when they got to the last two steps Gerard grabbed Frank's arm and then went still. "Do you smell that?"

Frank didn't, but he'd been more than usually stuffed up since he and Gerard had tested out the bed upstairs.

One of the bookshelves in the main room, full of small fragile household stuff, tipped over and hit the ground with an enormous crash. They weren't near enough to it for anything to reach them, but it was still the bookcase closest to them.

Gerard, who'd been holding Frank's arm, had pulled him back with him when the bookcase tipped over, almost pulling Frank off his feet. Off balance, they stumbled to the floor. Gerard was trying to tug him toward the kitchen.

The bookcase nearest them in the former dining room tipped over too, spilling its contents over the floor like guts. They froze in place.

"Okay," Frank said, breathing hard. "Okay. We'll just..." But Frank didn't actually know what to do next.

The fans were all whirring faster now. They seemed to be going faster than full speed, rocking back and forth with the force of their movement. And okay, it was intimidating.

"Frank," Gerard said, tugging on his arm. "Frank, the gas."

"What?"

"It smells like gas!"

Frank remembered, suddenly, that when they'd gone upstairs It had been banging around in the kitchen. They'd left It alone in the kitchen. It was mad, and they'd left It alone in the kitchen with the oven.

Frank faked toward the front door then darted to the right, dragging Gerard with him into the kitchen. Now even Frank could smell the gas. He didn't know if It had blown out the pilot light or what, but there was definitely a gas leak of some kind.

Gerard's phone rang, and Frank jumped. He'd forgotten about Mikey. Gerard, one hand still wrapped around Frank's arm, fished his phone out of his pocket. "Mikey!"

The phone wasn't on speaker but Frank could hear Mikey asking what the hell was going on. "Uh," Gerard looked around, a little wildly. "All hell is breaking loose, basically. What the fuck should we do?"

Gerard was silent for what felt like much too long. "He doesn't know," he reported unhappily to Frank. "I— Really? What did he… okay. Right. Yes. We will." He hung up and turned his huge eyes on Frank. "He says to get the fuck out and be careful."

"I should turn the gas off," Frank said. He eased his arm away from Gerard and headed toward the oven. He kept an eye on the table, as he had the entire time they'd been in the kitchen. "I guess smashing the plates did fuck all."

"Frank," Gerard said slowly, "the gas."

"What?" Frank said. "What about the gas?"

"Mikey said he asked Jim what they'd done to end the haunting."

"Well? What did they do?"

Gerard shook his head. "They never did get rid of it, Frank. The house burned down, remember?"

Frank stared at him. He was almost too impatient to talk. "So..?"

Gerard walked over to him and put his hands on Frank's shoulders. Looking Frank right in the eye, Gerard said "We need to burn the fucker down, Frank."

Frank gaped, at a loss for words for a long moment. "You've got to be kidding."

"How are you going to get rid of it?" There was a large, well-timed crash from somewhere outside the kitchen. "You can't…" Gerard let go of Frank's shoulders so he could wave his hands around in frustration. "You can't let people in this shop with this thing in it, Frankie. People bring their _kids_ here."

Frank was dizzy. Gerard was right. He knew Gerard was right; some part of him had known what would happen since they found the oil in the walls, maybe longer. Maybe since hearing about the Hoffman fire.

And the ghost had gone and turned on the gas for them.

Frank felt like he didn't have a choice. And deep down, there was a tiny curl of relief. He looked up at Gerard and nodded, once.

There wasn't that much to do. They shut the door between the kitchen and the main room, shut the windows in the kitchen, and opened the oven door. Trying not to breath, they slipped out the back door.

Frank stood for a moment in the doorway, looking at the kitchen, looking at his shop.

"Frank," Gerard said gently, touched his sleeve.

It wasn't even Frank's store anymore, if it ever had been.

Frank stepped out and shut the door.

They ran around to the front of the house. "How are we gonna do this?" Frank asked.

"I have an idea," Gerard smiled grimly. He lit a cigarette, let the cherries reach a warm, strong glow. "Stand back," he ordered. Before Frank could protest, Gerard ran up onto the porch, and along to one of the open windows in the former dining room. He chucked the cigarette into the open window and ran like hell. But Gerard wasn't very fast.

The kitchen exploded in a fireball.

Gerard fell, or was thrown, down the stairs. Frank ran across the parking lot and hauled Gerard up by the shoulders. Gerard was more help than hindrance until he was on his feet. He was a little sooty and a lot dirty, and seemed a bit stunned but not actually hurt. Frank and Gerard clung together and watched the house burn.

Through the windows, Frank could see flames tracing the tendrils of gas in the main room, spreading fast, so fast, in waves across the room. Billowing along the ceiling like a sheet being shook out as it was laid on a bed, rushing greedily in every direction. So much of what was inside was so old and dry it seemed to catch fire before the flames even touched it.

It was kind of beautiful, in a fierce, dangerous way. It was so vital, so mobile and fickle it seemed almost alive. Frank could feel the heat from it where they stood, and the fire grew brighter and brighter, changing colors as it found new things to burn.

Frank pulled Gerard back until they were leaning against the car as they watched the place burn for awhile.

"Fuck," Gerard said, coughing. His phone was ringing again. "Hey, Mikey. Yes, we're fine," he smiled at Frank. Frank managed to dredge up a smile in return.

 

Mikey hobbled into the diner between Frank and Gerard. Gerard was limping slightly himself. Frank just felt numb. They slowly lowered themselves into a booth. This time, Gerard sat next to Frank.

Mikey was sitting slightly forward, so his back didn't touch the leatherette of the booth. Gerard was still singed and smelled like campfire. Frank put his head in his hands and let them sink to the table.

Bob appeared at the head of the table. "What the hell happened to you?"

 

They told Ray and Bob the whole story that night over pizza in Gerard's living room. They were incredulous, to say the least, but as Ray said with a shrug "It's not a very good joke, if that's what they're going for. And it's not like Gerard can keep a straight face this long, anyway."

"Well," Bob said. "As long as I was right."

Frank rolled his eyes. "Yes, Bob. You told me so. Blah blah-de-fucking blah."

Bob looked at Gerard. "Why do like this little punk ass again?"

Gerard smiled to himself and hummed, but didn't answer. Coy bastard.

When Ray and Bob had left and Mikey had passed out in bed, Frank shoved his shoulder against Gerard's and asked "Why _do_ you like me?"

Gerard raised his eyebrows. "Really?" Frank glared at him. "Okay," Gerard continued, like he was trying not to laugh, "you're easy."

"Fuck you, I am not."

"You really aren't," Gerard agreed, giggling. "I gave you my phone number and it took you _eleven months_ to call me. What the fuck was that?"

Frank sort of waved his hands around, which was obviously a habit he was picking up from Gerard. "I didn't know that's what you meant! You said to call if anything interesting came in! How was I supposed to know you meant _in my pants?_ "

Gerard was laughing so hard he almost fell off the couch. Frank decided to help him out and pushed with his feet until Gerard fell all the way off.

"Ow, fucker!" Gerard was still laughing.

Frank, not anywhere near as disgruntled as he was playing, rolled off the couch and landed on Gerard.

"Ow!" Gerard whined again.

They were smooshed between the couch and the coffee table. Frank struggled to get his hands down to Gerard's sides so he could get some tickle torture in.

Gerard tried to squirm away, shrieking like a total girl, when a loud thump sounded on the wall behind them.

They both froze. Frank's heart was pounding so hard it hurt, and Gerard looked pale.

"I will throw the next one at your _heads_ if you don't stop that," Mikey shouted from his bedroom.

"Did you throw a shoe at us, Mikeyway?" Gerard shouted. "You almost killed Frank," he added, like he hadn't been freaking the fuck out.

"I will kill you both if you don't shut the fuck up," Mikey said.

Frank's heart rate was more or less back to normal now. Normal for being smushed on top of Gerard, anyway. Fucking adrenaline. Fucking Mikey.

Underneath him, Gerard had relaxed too, and Frank saw his chance. He dug his fingers into Gerard's side, and hung on when Gerard tried to throw him off. They eventually managed to shove the coffee table away, and Gerard got ahold of enough of Frank to make him stop.

"Sorry, Mikey," Gerard shouted, right in Frank's ear.

Mikey made a noise like a wounded whale. Gerard utterly failed to look contrite. Frank pressed his face into Gerard's shoulder so he wouldn't laugh. Gerard held on tightly until they'd both calmed down a little.

"Can we watch _Pride and Prejudice_ now or should we keep talking about our feelings?" Gerard whispered.

In response, Frank bit him.

"Ahh!" Gerard tried to whisper-scream and push Frank away— though not actually off— at the same time. "Weren't you supposed to stop that in kindergarten?"

Frank leaned back in and tugged at Gerard's earlobe with his teeth, gently this time. "I'm a lot better at biting where you want me to, now," he whispered.

Gerard's response to that was to roll them until he had Frank pinned. When Frank tried to kiss him, Gerard lifted his head out reach, and then sat mostly upright, grinning. "Now behave," he said. "Or…" he slowly dragged his hands down Frank's chest.

"Or," Frank interrupted. "You could just fuck me."

Gerard's hands stopped moving for a moment. "I think," Gerard said, sounding a little hoarse, spreading his hands out to cover Frank's stomach, "I think that might be the way to go."

 

These days, Frank spent most of his time on the phone. He was pretty sure that every idiot and jackass in the world had chosen insurance claims adjusting as a career, but there were definite good points. He could stay in his pajamas, for one, and for another he could do it almost anywhere, which usually meant his apartment or Gerard's house, wherever he woke up that day. Usually Gerard's.

The real bonus, of course, was that Frank's grandma had taken out a shit load of insurance on the store, and if the bastards would just pay him, Frank would be set for a good long while.

Frank was put on hold again and he held the phone away from his ear. He knew all of State Farm's hold music by heart. He could hear Gerard in his studio using the arc welder. He kicked the chair rung. He loved watching Gerard use the arc welder. Frank was a big fan of sparks and noise. Even now.

"Hello, my name is Marilyn, how may I help you today?"

Frank explained, once again, that his store had burned down by faulty gas leak. "The investigator sent in his report two weeks ago," Frank added. He'd read the report. The investigator had determined that a spark of some sort had set off the gas, but there had been so little left of the building, and the fire had burned so hot, that the fire investigator hadn't been able to get any more from the scene. He'd ruled it an accident, and Frank had read the policy carefully.

"And nothing was recoverable from the store, is that right?" Marilyn asked.

"Nothing salvaged," Frank said, hoping he didn't sound noticeably relieved. "That's right. Burned to the ground."

"Well, Mr. Iero," Marilyn said, "I don't think there are any more holds on your account. Everything seems to be here. Let's see if we can't cut you a check."

"Thank you very, very much," he said sincerely.

 

"They said the check will be in the mail by the end of the week," Frank said.

Gerard took off his mask. "Again?"

Frank shrugged. "What can I say? I live in hope."

"Assuming you do get the check… what are you planning on doing with it?" Gerard spoke hesitantly. It was a topic they'd avoided thus far.

Frank shrugged. He'd been thinking about it but wasn't in any hurry. "There's always the record store. Or…"

"Or?" Gerard raised his eyebrows, the corners of his mouth tugging up.

Frank forced himself to keep a straight face. "Or… I read that it's popular to make weekend trips out to galleries. We're not too far from New York. I could open an art gallery. If I could find someone cool enough to show in it."

Frank let his straight face get away from him. Gerard was beginning to smile, and Frank was beaming back.

END


End file.
